


Atrast Vala

by reddish



Series: Storytellers [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Age Difference, Epistolary Romance, F/M, Gen, Long Distance Relationship, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:06:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 53,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/926804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddish/pseuds/reddish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>/Atrast Vala - A formal greeting. Literally, "speak" or "find your tongue."/</p><p>This fic chronicles the adventures of Rook Brosca following the Fifth Blight and the Darkspawn Civil War, with a focus on the relationship that grows between herself and Varric Tethras following a fateful trip to Kirkwall. Can they combine their love of stories and overcome their pasts to make a new chapter?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Visiting

**5 Bloomingtide 9:32**

Kirkwall was big. Maybe not as expansive as some of the cities in Ferelden, but… the place loomed overhead in a way that was more than a little threatening. Rook’s stomach twisted as she looked at the chains and statues that greeted newcomers to the city: This was a place of fear, and she was not welcome.

Who _was_ welcome was unclear.

Arriving in the market was no less intimidating. Everyone was so full of hustle, with an added bit of bustle for good measure. And while a few dwarves were selling their wares, her people were not well-represented in the mass of customers. Rook felt little surprise, but the feeling of isolation was still hard to shake after two short years on the surface.

“Rook?”

A woman approached her, tall and powerful, with red hair a shade darker than Rica’s. She wore armor suggesting her talents were more mystical than physical, but the stern look on her face told Rook she would be better off not mentioning that fact around so many Templars.

“Hawke, I take it?” Rook grinned, extending her hand up toward the human.

“You can call me Viona,” she gripped Rook’s hand and smiled, but it did not quite reach her tired green eyes. “I expected to see you in uniform.”

Rook scoffed. “That blue and white stripe nonsense? I only wear that hideous crap to lead troops and official functions. Besides, you know how many people think that being a Grey Warden means you’ll help them with every fucking problem in their life? I’m not going to advertise that if we’re not in a Blight.”

This time, the smile filled Viona’s face. “You’re not what I expected.”

“I get that a lot.”

Viona snorted and gestured for Rook to follow her out of the marketplace. “So, you’re here to check up on Carver?”

Rook pursued her. “And a little bit of other, uh, unfinished business, yes. He wouldn’t leave with the Wardens who helped him?”

“You haven’t met Carver. He won’t do anything until he’s good and ready to do it, the ass.”

“So why do you think I can help?”

Viona glanced down at her. “You were at Ostagar. He was, too. Our family – well, me, my mom, Carver and Bethany – we escaped Lothering just before it was destroyed.” There was a moment of silence as a pained look crossed Viona’s face. “Though Bethany didn’t really escape, I suppose.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Viona shrugged silently as they jogged up a flight of stairs.

“I’m… I’m also sorry about Carver. I heard it wasn’t exactly his choice to join our ranks.”

“It was our mistake for thinking we could venture into the Deep Roads and not have our lives fall to shit.” Viona paused, and Rook nearly ran into her back. “Er. No offense?”

Rook laughed. “Oh, Ancestors, no. Nobody likes the Deep Roads. Except maybe the Legion of the Dead, but… well, they’re complicated.”

They continued walking. “I’ll admit, I don’t know much about dwarven society. I’ve got a friend – he fancies himself my manager or something – but he was born in Kirkwall. And he kind of hates Orzammar, so he’s not much help.”

“Most of us on the surface are here for a reason,” Rook agreed quietly. The questions she had for the mage in a city of Templars fell short as they approached their destination, a seedy tavern in a seedy part of town.

“Your brother’s in here?” Rook asked, ducking beneath Viona’s arm as she held the door open.

“We’re making a small stop to pick up Varric. Carver likes him more than me. Though I think he likes bed lice more than me some days.”

The tavern was even dingier and seedier on the inside, immediately filling her with warm memories of Tapster’s. Viona’s hand on her shoulder was her guide to the table they sought.

“This is my, uh… manager, I guess. Varric, this is Rook, the Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden.”

The redheaded definitely-not-a-mage-shh gestured to the dwarf in the tan coat seated by the fireplace. He stood and offered his hand to Rook, with a large smile and a twinkle in his eye.

Rook’s hand gripped his the only way she knew how – firmly.

“Strong handshake,” Varric laughed, and it was warm.

“Strong all of me,” Rook countered. “Not too bad yourself… for a surfacer.”

“I don’t remember the Grey Wardens setting up shop in Dust Town, _topsider_ ,” he laughed. “Leave that nug shit down in Orzammar.”

Rook grinned with approval. "Agreed."

Viona cleared her throat, cutting to the point. “We’re off to see Carver. I thought you might be some help. He hasn’t really spoken to me since…”

“I got you,” Varric nodded. “Do you also want to swing by and pick up someone sweet and shiny?”

“I don’t think this is a conversation we need Merrill for.”

“All right. Isabela? She’s around here somewhere.”

“No.”

“Hawke…”

The woman glowered at him, a conversation Rook couldn’t begin to comprehend passing between their eyes. Varric raised his hands in defeat. “All right. Let me get Bianca.”

“I thought we weren’t bringing anyone else?” Rook asked.

Varric flashed her a grin before he pulled up on a belt laying on the table, revealing an impressively intricate and powerful-looking repeating crossbow. “This is Bianca.”

“I would never be able to talk him out of bringing _her_. And I wouldn’t dream of it anyway.”

“Damn right,” he laughed. “Let’s go find little Hawke.”

“He hates when you call him that,” Viona sighed.

“He hates everything,” Varric replied as they took off toward the door.

Rook stared after them for a few seconds, trying to shake the feeling of intrusion into a world she knew nothing about. It was her supposed responsibility to bring the stray Warden home. Both of them, if possible. Yet ripping someone from their established life was not something she had learned to appreciate. There was no urgent need for Wardens, no Blight or civil war for which to prepare. And the glory of the Fifth Blight’s end had resulted in plenty of volunteers in Ferelden. What was the harm in letting people be?

At any rate, she needed to ensure the Hawke boy was safe and understood what he would be facing in the coming days as a new Warden. If she could make _his_ world a little safer, she would consider the long journey a success.


	2. Reaching Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook visits with Carver Hawke and begins to understand the extent of the chaos in Kirkwall.

**5 Bloomingtide 9:32**

Rook would have passed by the dingy tenement without a second thought had she not had a guide. Despite the sunlight overhead, the resemblance to Dust Town in this part of Kirkwall was… uncomfortable.

“He’s _still_ staying with Gamlen?” Varric’s voice was full of pity and disbelief. “Doesn’t he know you have an estate?”

“He wouldn’t leave. He’s… having a hard time,” Viona stared straight ahead as she knocked at the door. Rook observed silently, noting that Viona looked like someone who had just seen something truly terrible. Someone trying to maintain composure as their world fell apart. It seemed there was a lot happening beneath the quiet surface of this place.

A quiet scuffle came from behind the door, followed by a muffled voice. “Go away.”

“Carver, _please_.”

“Did you bring Anders? I told you he couldn’t help me with this, Vi. Just leave me alone.”

Rook’s companions both began to speak, but she cut them off at the pass. “Carver, it’s not Anders. You can feel me because of the taint, right? My name is Rook. Rook Brosca. I’m a Warden from Ferelden, and I’d like to help you.”

“You’re not taking me back,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m not taking you anywhere, I get that. But you sound like you’re not doing so good, and I want to help.”

Metal scraped against the door, the sound of a lock being unbarred. Rook reached for the handle, but before she could open it Carver spoke again.

“Viona, I don’t need you here.”

Rook looked back at Viona, whose jaw flexed with controlled anger.

“I won’t do this if you don’t want-” Rook started.

“No, it’s fine. I’m… I have things I can do.” She shot a glance to Varric. “Make sure he doesn’t kill her. And come find me when you’re done.”

“Sure thing, boss.” Varric adjusted Bianca to be easier to grab, likely for show, and nodded up to Viona. Lowering his voice, he squeezed her hand quickly. “He’s going to be fine.”

Viona gave another silent shrug and turned to go, rejecting his comfort. The way her shoulders hung when they descended belied her apparent disinterest in the situation. This was painful for her, and Rook had a feeling it was about more than concern for Carver experiencing some side effects of being a Warden.

Well. All she could do was try, right?

“We’re coming in now, okay?” Rook asked, hand back on the door handle.

The grunt of acknowledgment was apparently all she was going to get. She and Varric shared a hopeful-yet-strained smile, and she pushed the door open.

The first thing to hit her was the overwhelming stench of alcohol. It filled her nostrils and sank into the cloth edges of her simple leather armor with a potency that would probably require a healer to exorcise.

“Ancestors,” Rook sighed, taking a step into the dank hovel Carver called “home.” It was strewn about, in general disarray and lacking all semblance of upkeep. For a moment, she wondered if she had woken up from a long dream; would her mother be seated at the table in the next room?

Varric leaned forward to whisper from behind her, bringing her back to Kirkwall. “It’s not all him. His drunk uncle lives here, too.”

The warm breath against her cheek sent a small shiver down her arms, unexpected and inappropriate for the setting. She cleared her throat, trying desperately to focus -- this was quickly becoming a little overwhelming.

Carver, she assumed, sat on a barrel propped up in the corner. His dark hair was disheveled, his clothes were simple and dirty, and he was staring at the floor as though it were a mile away. The residual anger in his brows was definitely a familial trait.

Rook laid her trusty, enormous sword in the corner – so she might look a little less threatening – before approaching him.

“You’re a _dwarf_ ,” Carver blurted out with laughter as soon as she stepped up to him.

“And you’re drunk,” Varric sighed from the doorway.

“Not _you_ ,” the younger Hawke glared at Varric. “Her.”

“Yep,” Rook smiled up at him. “You caught me.”

“They let dwarves be Wardens?”

“Mmhmm. They even let dwarves _lead_ the Wardens.”

Carver laughed, and Rook was curious what image he must have concocted in his head. It certainly seemed funny. At least until he realized what she had said.

“Wait,” he said, an edge of paranoia to his voice. He sat up straight and glowered at her. “You’re the Commander. The… the Hero of Ferelden, I remember! She was a dwarf… she… you...”

“That’s me!”

“You didn’t say you were the Commander outside. I am _not_ going back with you! You don’t have… jur—jurvis…… you don’t have authority here!”

“Carver, it’s okay. I’m not trying to take you anywhere. I just… thought I could help you. The Wardens who helped you with the Joining said you didn’t take it well, and your sister told me you were having, uh, a hard time.”

The man’s eyes narrowed as his nostrils flared. “She said that, did she? Well, she should know.”

Rook pulled up a chair, cast aside in the other corner. Its legs were uneven, but she spun it around and sat in it backwards to face Carver casually.

“What happened in the Deep Roads?” The question was simple, but Carver recoiled like she had just stuck her hands in an open wound.

“I nearly died. I joined the Grey Wardens. What else do you need to know?”

“What’s made it so difficult? Are you having nightmares?”

He snorted and pushed away from the barrel in order to pace the small, cramped quarters. “Am I having nightmares,” he repeated the question, derision in his voice. “Every minute of my life is a nightmare.”

“Because you’re a Warden?” Rook tracked him with her eyes, staying still.

Carver stopped in his tracks. “It’s not…  You don’t know me. You don’t know what’s happened.”

“I’m asking you to tell me.”

“It’s not that fucking simple,” he groaned, holding a hand to his head. “Yeah, things have changed since I… since they made me one of you. But I’m used to nightmares. I’m used to pain. It’s just…”

She frowned. “What is it, then?”

“She was right about me! All right? She was fucking right about me. I _was_ too weak to go with her. She took me out of pity, and I almost bloody died. And it took her apostate friend to save my life, and now I don’t even… I’m not just in her shadow. Now I’m in the shadow of a thousand others, all better and stronger than me.”

It was only when Carver went still that she saw the dark rings around his eyes, the pallid tone to his skin. Nearly as soon as he stopped speaking, however, his cheeks flushed and he spun on his heels to point at Varric.

“You. If one bloody word of this gets to her, I swear…”

Rook stood and placed a hand on Carver’s extended arm. “Hey, it’s okay. He won’t tell Viona anything. Right, Varric?”

Carver refused to lower his arm or give Varric a chance to answer. “He’s the sodding storyteller of the group! He can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. For all I know, this is going to be in his next bestseller.”

She looked at Varric in surprise. “You’re a writer?”

He smirked, but he was still looking up at Carver. “Listen, Junior. You’re in a rough patch right now, and I’m here to help. Also, you can trust me when I say that the emotionally-compromised drunk Warden isn’t really going to draw in the readership. Unless you’re having a lot of sex at the same time. Which… not in this sty.”

Carver did not appear to be soothed by the assurance, understandably. He huffed and pushed away from Rook to stalk back to his original corner. He supported himself with his arms, facing away from the dwarves.

“Get out,” he sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Carver,” Rook said gently. “I’m going to be around for a while. I want to check in with you again, in a couple days, if you’re okay with that. I brought some potion recipes and stuff that can help with the Grey Warden side effects. I’ll have someone deliver them, if you’d like.”

“Fine. Just… go.”

Feeling defeated, Rook gathered her sword without another word, and left ahead of Varric. She heard him following her, but neither of them spoke for a few yards past Gamlen’s apartment. Finally, she dug her heels in and turned to face Varric. She hoped her face was appropriately threatening.

“Was that your idea of helping?”

Varric’s eyes opened wide, and his palms came up in a familiar defensive stance. “Hold on, Chess. There’s a history here that you’re not getting. Don’t stick that shiny, massive sword anywhere just yet, okay?”

Rook puffed out a frustrated breath. “What is _wrong_ with this place?”

“How much time have you got?” Varric chuckled.

“Well, apparently I’m going to be staying here a while. So… all night?”

His eyebrows raised and his smirk faded into a surprised smile. “Then let me buy you a drink? You’ll need one.”

“All right, storyteller.” She started back toward the Hanged Man. “This better be good, though. I have high standards for a good story.”

“You won’t find a better narrator in all of Thedas,” Varric assured her, matching her step.

“Big talk,” she mused.

“Big all of me,” he retorted, parroting her phrasing from their initial meeting. Rook sputtered and came to a complete stop as his words registered. He simply kept walking, chuckling to himself with no small amount of self-satisfaction.


	3. Appearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric catches Rook up with the status of their traveling group, and Isabela arrives. Varric offers to help Rook settle into Kirkwall for her stay.

**5 Bloomingtide 9:32**

 “So, let me get this straight,” Rook set her mug down firmly. “You travel with no fewer than three apostates, including a Dalish blood mage and a rogue Grey Warden, an elf who is currently wanted for escaping a slaver – who just so happens to be an extremely powerful magister from Tevinter – and the captain of the city guard.”

“Don’t forget the pirate,” Varric noted.

“Right, you mentioned Isabela earlier. How’s she been?”

“If you’ve met Isabela, you know how she’s been.”

Rook smirked. “Saucy and up to no good?”

“Careful, I think you just summoned her,” he inclined his head forward, giving Rook fair warning before a warm hand fell onto her shoulder, followed by another on her bare head.

The hand gently caressed Rook’s hair, shaved short and close to the scalp, as a familiar voice purred, “By Andraste’s knickers, I never thought I’d see _you_ again.”

“I’m… really not sure how to take that,” Rook quirked an eyebrow at Isabela as she settled in beside her at the table. “You thought I’d die?”

Isabela laughed, a beautiful sound. “No, dear. I had the utmost of faith in you. But why are you here in this den of scum and villainy? You’re too good for Kirkwall. Unless…” she sighed and shook her head with irritation. “Carver?”

“Carver.” Varric agreed before taking another gulp of his drink.

“And Anders,” Rook said quietly.

Varric choked on his drink. “You’re here for the healer?”

“Who do you think made him a Warden? I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Isabela coughed into her arm in a failed attempt to hide her snort of laughter.

“Uh, Chess,” the cautious edge to Varric’s voice made her nervous. “He’s a lot of things. Not sure ‘okay’ is one of them.”

“Of course not,” Rook groaned, lowering her head to the table.  “I’ll put off seeing him until tomorrow, I guess. I’m already tired of this city.”

Isabela embraced her from the side, resting her perfumed head against Rook’s shoulder. “There, there, lovely. Things aren’t so bad here.”

“Yeah?” Rook leaned her head against Isabela’s with fondness. “Something must be keeping you here, I guess.”

It was Varric’s turn to laugh. “Yeah, Rivaini. Tell her about all the beautiful sights and sounds that keep you moored here.”

“Shut up,” the pirate warned; Rook could not see her face, but she felt her tense.

“That’s it,” Rook shrugged Isabela off of her and pushed herself away from the table. “I’m going back to my inn, where nobody is tortured and full of mysteries.”

“Come on, I thought you liked a good story,” Varric teased gently.

She gathered her weapons and her traveling satchel, pausing to glance back at the gilded dwarf. “I like to _hear_ stories. This town is full of secrets and things nobody wants to say. It’s… exhausting.” She ran a hand over the top of her head with a sigh. “And I’m pretty tired from the journey here. Sorry for being short.”

Varric and Isabela both went very still, staring at her with expectant eyes and rigid mouths.

“What?” Rook looked down at herself. “Did I spill something?”

When she looked back up, Varric’s lips were twitching, and Isabela’s shoulders were trembling slightly.

“Oh, fuck me,” Rook swore, holding her hands over her face.

“ _Short!”_ Isabela erupted into a shriek of laughter, holding her stomach with one arm and making no gesture to quiet her rapture at Rook’s choice of words.

Expecting to see another cackling face, Rook was surprised to see Varric maintaining his tenuous grasp on his composure. She blushed a little as his eyes traveled her face, and when their eyes met – for just a moment – she felt like someone in this town actually saw her.

A slow smile crept across Rook’s face. “Get it?” She winked at Varric. “’cause I’m a dwarf.”

His sudden grin was contagious, as was his wheezing cough of laughter. Rook shook her head, giggling freely as the tension dissolved from her shoulders.

However, when she returned to gathering her items, Varric reached across the table and stayed her hand. “You really shouldn’t wander around this town alone. People know who you are.”

Isabela simply continued tittering, whispering “short” to herself a second time and getting a fresh tickle from it.

Rook raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m not staying _here_. How do you suggest I get back to Hightown?”

Varric stood from the table, suddenly her height. “I think I’m going to be the closest thing to a guide you’ll find around here. I know all the bright spots to avoid, and all the shady spots to find some fun. And I come with references.”

Rook rested her hands on her hips, exaggerating a long, judging look at him. “Your references include a Dalish blood mage and a pirate, if I recall.”

“Who have come to _mostly_ no harm, despite this place crawling with guards and Templars.”

Isabela nudged Rook, who had barely noticed that her laughter had died down. “Oh, take the poor boy out. He never leaves this place unless someone makes him.” She leaned up to whisper her last thought sweetly into Rook’s ear: “I think he’s fond of you, love.”

Rook snorted, pushing Isabela away from her playfully. “Okay. Fine. You can take me to the inn. Maybe someone will jump us, and you’ll see I don’t need a bodyguard.”

“We can only hope,” Varric drawled, slinging Bianca over his shoulder. “You ready?”

“Always,” Rook grinned.

“Have fun you two,” Isabela sing-songed.

Varric squeezed the pirate’s shoulder as he passed by her. “Try not to get into too much trouble without me, Rivaini.”

Rook let Varric take the lead so she could look back at Isabela without him seeing, just to give her a skeptical and discouraging headshake. Isabela returned her attention with kissing faces and hand gestures that made blood take up permanent residence in the dwarf’s cheeks.

Everyone in this town was simply insane. Out of their minds. Had to be. Of course, that meant she was going out into this town full of crazy people with one of their leaders at her side.

 _Ah well,_ she mused, stealing a long look at the dwarf in front of her. _I’ve made worse decisions._


	4. Honesty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook and Varric get into a scuffle with one of Kirkwall's many gangs, and share a private moment in the aftermath.

**5 Bloomingtide 9:32**

Once the two dwarves were alone in the “fresh” night air, stale with the stench of saltwater and fish wafting in from the docks, Rook settled in beside Varric on their walk to Hightown.

“You know,” she pried gently, “I really don’t know anything about you, but I get the feeling you know more about me than you’re letting on.”

“Do you, now?” Varric sounded amused.

“And then you’re just going to be all vague and mysterious. Of course.”

“I am a rogue by training, you know.”

“So you’re _sneaky_ , even better. I thought you reminded me of Leske. Only smarter.”

“Yeah? Who’s that?”

Rook shrugged, trying to pretend it was a cool wind from the sea giving her a sudden chill. “An old friend from Orzammar. He and I were partners in crime for the carta.”

“He’s still back there?”

“No. Well, yes, I guess. He’s dead.”

Varric stared ahead as they walked, but his brow gained a new weight to it. “I, uh. I’m sorry.”

A bitter laugh rose from her throat. “It’s… it’s been a year, I’m mostly past it. Like Viona said, Orzammar leaves its mark on all of us.”

“Some more literally than others,” he mused, his gaze briefly wandering to her face.

She smirked up at him, catching his look. “You’re wondering why I never got rid of it?”

“You get that question a lot?” Varric sighed. “I hate being derivative.”

Rook chuckled, though her head hung low as she spoke. “It’s not your fault. Everyone thinks I should hate it. And I do, some days. But… it’s part of me and my story. Besides, if I erase the mark that let everyone think I was nothing, then it lets them forget how wrong they were about me. I’m not going to let anyone off that easy.”

When she looked up, Varric looked away from her a little too quickly. Her ears felt a little warm from the look that had lingered.

“I guess it’s kind of silly,” she shrugged.

“Are you kidding? It’s… damned beautiful.”

Just as Rook’s eyes opened wide in surprise, a flash and scurry at her periphery brought her to an instant stop, hand instinctively reaching for her blade as her other arm shot out protectively against Varric’s chest.

Mental cursing accompanied the knowledge that they had been paying too little attention in a town more dangerous than it appeared. A band of humans, appearing to be entirely women in scrappy suits of chainmail surrounded them, weapons drawn. Some kind of sign was painted on the front of their armor, but Rook had no idea what it meant.

“Wh- Oh, shit,” Varric grunted as he drew Bianca into his arms. “Good evening ladies! Any chance you _don’t_ feel like dying tonight?”

“Cocky little dwarf,” the ostensible leader of the group laughed in what Rook took as her best attempt at a menacing tone. She failed. “Maybe give over your gold and all that fancy jewelry, and we’ll leave you and your dwarfette in peace.”

“The fuck did you just call me?” Rook demanded. She had to laugh. It had been a while since she had been somewhere where the humans were gutsy enough to insult her. How refreshing.

Varric nudged his head to the side and extended his arm, as if asking Rook to dance. “After you, m’lady.”

“With pleasure,” she growled. “You and Bianca okay on your own?”

“Darling, Bianca does all the work. I just sit back and enjoy the ride.”

They shared a fierce grin for one beat, and then the world faded away as Rook charged - one target clear in her sights. The leader’s smirk, visible below her helmet’s edges, shifted quickly into surprise, but she rolled to the side in time. The leader caught only the flat of Rook’s blade against her armor, yet the unanticipated force of a stampeding dwarf still sent her flying back against the wall with a satisfying sound of impact.

Four grunts gathered around her in their leader’s place, identical but for their weapons of choice. Though they towered a full head and a half over her, Rook had long since learned there were benefits to being small. Intimidation did not come easy.

Ducking the jabs and swipes of their blades in an instinctual dance -- steps she could neither remember learning nor teach another -- Rook found the break in their strikes and swung. Her blade struck true, driving back one of the rogues to her side, and taking a large bite out of the unarmored flesh of the woman in front of her. With a guttural roar of vindication, she withdrew her blade and sunk it up and into the lower gut of the off-balance rogue. Two foes felled in as many seconds, Rook spun, eager to take on the foes behind her. To her surprise, she found them floored and thrashing, crossbow bolts in their throats and various appendages.

“Damn,” she gasped. “Nice!”

“Behind you!” Varric called, loosing a bolt toward a stray thug to his left.

One second too late, Rook grunted with surprise and pain as the blunt force of a shield drove her forward. Using the momentum to form an awkward roll, Rook slid to a stop and rose to her feet beside Varric.

The leader wasted no time in running after her, sword raised. Rook squared herself, readying for the impact with sweaty, agitated hands gripping the leather of her sword’s hilt. Varric hopped quickly out of the strife, sounds of him reloading letting Rook know she was not alone in this.

“You bitch,” the leader screamed as her sword came down hard for Rook’s face. Sparks flew as Rook pushed back against the blow with her own blade, gritting her teeth and driving her energy into her feet to keep herself steady. As the inertia of the attack sank into the earth, Rook grinned up at her foe.

“What the fuck are you smiling at?” The woman spat; Rook dodged with a simple head shake.

“I’m laughing at your knees,” Rook responded.

“My what?”

In response, Rook raised a heavily-booted foot and drove it hard into her armored kneecap, causing a sickening pop of impact. In the burst of pain and confusion, the woman took an agonized step away from Rook, offering her time to make her move. Rook threw her own sword into the air and gripped it by the blade in her gloved hands. On the upswing, the blade’s guard caught the enemy’s sword and knocked it to the ground. On the returning downswing, she slammed the pommel into the exposed throat of the hobbled woman.The leader dropped her shield, grasping desperately, futilely, at her collapsed windpipe.

Rook turned away from the gurgling, choking sound as the woman fell, and the world slowed down. First, there was Varric saying, “Shit.” That was not good, Rook understood that immediately. The curse was followed shortly by the sound of Bianca releasing one final bolt. Before the crossbow’s target was reached, however, Rook found herself staring up into the chest of the last thug, just as the bite of a short blade dug into Rook’s left shoulder.

There was a scuffling sound as Varric lay Bianca to the ground, in order to draw a knife from his belt. He was swearing pretty loud, and she became worried that he had become overwhelmed by others. Rook pushed back against the last attacker in an attempt to examine the rest of the battlefield, but all that followed was the sound of knives finding the weakest points of the woman in front of her. Varric shoved the bleeding and useless body out of the way when he was through with it, clearing her field of vision.

They had won easily, despite their initial distraction. Rook grinned, panting with excitement and exertion, and a little bit of pain. “This town isn’t so bad after all!”

But Varric was not laughing. His brow was knitted up with concern and anger, a look that fit into the lines on his face far too well for someone who seemed so carefree.

“Are you okay?” His hand went to her shoulder, near the wound. The dagger had fallen with the dead woman, but her leather armor still prevented her from getting a good view of the cut itself.

“I think I’m good,” she assured him, trying to roll her shoulder and test it. It stung, but everything moved well enough. “There’s more of their blood than mine on me, so I count that a win.”

“Good,” he exhaled deeply, his barrel chest deflating only slightly. “I can’t imagine the shit I’d get if I killed the Hero of Ferelden. Still, I think you might want that bandaged up.”

“Your gangs hang out in front of inns in the nice part of town?”

“There is no ‘nice’ part of Kirkwall.”

“Fine, fine. At least we’re only a few paces from where I’m staying. I have supplies there. And my armor.”  Rook sighed, rubbing her shoulder sorely. “I miss my armor.”

“Never give this place the benefit of the doubt,” Varric advised as he scooped Bianca up into his arms. He took a moment to examine the embellished wood, gently stroking the weapon before replacing her on his back. His connection to that device was yet another mystery.

“I hope she didn’t get too scuffed,” Rook offered, feeling very much like an intruder on a romantic moment.

“Bianca will outlive us both.” He then chuckled, though the laugh sounded a little hollow.

They arrived at the inn with little intervening conversation, both too busy taking better account of their surroundings. Varric snorted as they entered the small, well-decorated inn.

“What?” Rook demanded.

“You’re staying _here_?”

“What’s wrong with it?” Rook began climbing the stairs to her room, and Varric followed.

“It’s just so... clean.”

“Well, nobody told me about the finery of the Hanged Man when I first got to town,” she shot him a look over her shoulder, her tongue sticking out.

“Dirty things are honest,” Varric argued. “This town has a lot to hide, and it’s a mark of honor when a place tells you exactly what it is.”

Before entering her room, Rook paused and faced her guide with a suspicious glare. “Are you saying this place isn’t telling me what it is?”

His smug grin spoke volumes about how much he knew, and how little he was going to tell her.

“I’ll move my things in the morning,” Rook sighed. “If I’m going to sleep amongst criminal scum, I might as well have good company. And some ale.”

“Atta girl.”

Rook rolled her eyes and entered the damnable cozy and clean room, knowing her sleep would be troubled by whatever shady operation may or may not be running underneath her nose. She laid her sword on the small table in the corner, to be cleaned as soon as her wound was dressed.

Digging through her supplies in a chest at the foot of the bed, she pulled out some healing herbs, fresh bandages, a small cloth, and a flagon of clean water. When she looked up, Varric was still at the door with one hand idly rubbing his neck.

It was only then a feeling of apprehension settled onto her. “Oh,” she muttered, standing up and approaching the door. “Right, uh. You... you can come in? Or, not. I mean, I’m here and so your job is complete, right?”

Varric cleared his throat. “Yeah, that’s...” he trailed off as his eyes settled back onto her shoulder. “Are you sure that cut’s going to be okay? We can go see Anders now, if you want. He’s always up.”

Rook laughed. “Ser Tethras, I am not so easily broken. I’m a walking scar and bruise most days. Does your Hawke get so terribly injured in these fights?”

His eyes narrowed. “My Hawke?”

“Oh,” Rook’s eyes widened. “I didn’t mean like that. Well, actually, you two kind of look like... Is she? Are you?”

“Are we what?” Varric raised an inquisitive eyebrow “Involved?”

“Well, yeah.”

A chortle. “What in Thedas would make you think that?”

“I don’t know, you just seemed... Argh, forget it! I have no fucking clue what’s going on in this town!” Rook threw her hands up in frustration, forgetting her wound only until the clotting tore and a stab of pain ripped through her again.

“Shit,” she winced, turning away from the door and back to her medicinal supplies. She pulled at her leathers -- torn and a bit sticky with blood from the re-opened wound -- until she wore only her linen support wrapped around her chest.

Rook took an inspection of her front. Blood ran down from the puncture, mostly dried, and her linen was stained reddish brown on the left side. No big loss, but still -- it was pretty new. The wound itself was nothing to worry about. The dagger had mostly grazed her in the scuffle, though it dipped into the flesh just below her collarbone.

Rough, warm fingers touched her bare back gingerly, near what she then detected to be the growing bruise from the shield’s attack earlier. She sucked in a sharp breath, telling herself it was only from the pain of her slight bang-ups.

“You said it wasn’t that bad,” Varric’s voice was low and at her ear, concerned.

“It’s not,” she replied, defensive and apprehensive for reasons she could not really grasp in the moment. “You should see me after a real fight.”

Varric’s hand left her back with the speed of someone who just realized they were touching something over a flame. She understood - the heat of his body beside hers made her feel similarly.

“Leather armor,” she grumbled, desperate for a distraction as she reached for a clean cloth and began dabbing at the dried blood around her wound. “Might as well just wear a dress.”

“The Hero of Ferelden - slaying Archdemons in heels and a skirt,” Varric snorted.

“You caught me,” she smirked at him. “That chest isn’t full of plate, just makeup.”

“I may just have to write that,” Varric mused. “With your permission, of course.”

“Do I get a cut?”

“I’d never hold out on you, Chess. What do you say we split it seventy-thirty?”

Rook looked up from rubbing a small amount of salve into the wound without flinching. She hoped her unimpressed glare was in good shape. “I did all the work here.”

“I suppose it is your intellectual property, but I’ll have to flesh out the plot. Sixty-forty. Final offer, or your story doesn’t get told by the finest wordsmith in Thedas.”

“That’s not my story,” she sighed, frustrated as she struggled to wrap the bandage around her upper arm.“You can write the pretty princess saving the day if you want, but it’s not me.”

Varric reached out, holding her arm steady with one hand as the other took the cloth from her grip. “I’d like to hear yours,” he said quietly, positioning the bandage with a slow hand.

Goosebumps traveled down her arms, and Rook was left praying a silent prayer to whatever potential deity would listen that he could not feel them as she could. “It’s, uh, pretty well-known.”

“Not the crap the criers and gossips say,” he said firmly, laying her arm down at her side. “The story you want told.”

She looked over at him to find and hold his gaze, painfully aware of how bare she truly was under his golden brown eyes. “That’s something I’d only give away for an even trade. Fifty-fifty.”

Varric broke the stare and turned away. “I don’t have a story, so that offer’s no good here.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Rook said quietly. “I’ve never met anyone who didn’t.”

His laugh was more hollow than before. “Some people aren’t meant to be protagonists, Chess.”

“I don’t... I’m sorry, I don’t know what that means.”

Varric shifted and smiled sadly at her. “Some people are heroes, the star of their stories. I’m on the sides. It’s not so bad from over here, but it’s not a very good tale. Hardly worth the trade.”

Rook shrugged. “I was just... I just meant, I’d like to get to know you.”

“I know.”  Varric released a sigh then redirected the conversation. “It’s late, you should get some rest. Did you still want to see Anders? I can take you to him. Tomorrow’s clear.”

“Yeah,” Rook narrowed her eyes, but decided against pushing or trying to understand what had just taken place. “I’ll meet you at the Hanged Man in the morning. And, well, thanks for being my guide.”

Varric smirked. “Fair warning, we go underground tomorrow. Things get scary down there.”

“I think I’ve got some experience in that area,” Rook returned the smirk. “Good night, Varric.”

“Yeah. I’ll... see you.”

He closed the door behind him. Rook set herself to cleaning her sword, in the hopes that she would forget how much more alone she felt that evening than she had when she first arrived.


	5. People Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook sees Anders again, and is confronted with the changes he's experienced.

**6 Bloomingtide 9:32**

All joking aside, Darktown felt a little too much like home for Rook’s taste. The poor and unwanted citizens of Kirkwall huddled together in filth and despair beneath the surface of the earth, which was neither as warm nor as cozy as it would sound to an outsider. It was stifling, smothering.

The thought made her shudder, so she was more than pleased when Varric stopped the tour near the end of the tunnels. There was a makeshift storefront set into the wall, and a sign with some scrawling on it that Rook could not read.

“Okay, so you had better let me do the talking,” Varric warned.

“As though I could stop you.”

“Har,” he droned, his glare full of play. “I just mean... well, he can be a little skittish.”

Rook frowned. “Why would he be afraid of me?”

“Trust me. Blondie’s fallen on hard times lately.”

Cursing Varric’s insistent and persistent habit of knowing what was going on, she sighed and nodded. “Fine, you can take the lead. I’m not here to harass him, though. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“I know. Let’s make sure _he_ knows that, though.”

“Next!” Anders called from within his cave, sorry, _clinic_. Varric motioned for her to wait by the door before he entered.

“Varric?” Anders sounded relieved. “You know you don’t have to wait in line if you have something you need help with.”

“I know, I know. Your generosity knows no bounds. But I’m not here for myself. I’ve got a friend… well, _you’ve_ got a friend who’s come to check in.”

“Varric,” Anders’ voice instantly deepened, and it made her blood run a bit cold. “Who did you bring here?”

“Whoa, now. You’re safe, okay? It’s not a Templar, it’s --”

“You brought a Grey Warden to _me_?”

“Ah, right. That sense-y thing you Wardens can do. Anyone ever tell you that’s a little creepy?”

It sounded like her would-be travel guide was about to get set on fire for her sake, and Rook was not about to have that. She took a slow, confident step forward with her hands raised, and hoped for the best.  

Though it was only for a moment, Rook could have sworn she detected a blue glow to the place as she entered. Yet when she rounded the corner, the small clinic looked entirely mundane and dark, and the only people in the room were Varric and Anders. The mage looked… the same, but aged. Far more than he had any right to in the year since she had seen him.

His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was a snarling grimace as he turned to look at her. The expression, terrifying as it was, faded instantly.

“Rook?” There was a soft laugh in the question, a look of disbelief and comfort flooding his stony, scruffy face and relaxing his rigid stance.

Rook grinned, her hands no longer itching to grab her sword, and she ran forward eagerly. Her brawny arms embraced his waist, squeezing him tightly as her head buried into his comfortably-soft middle.

“Don’t break him,” Varric laughed.

Anders matched the laughter and rubbed Rook’s head affectionately once she loosened her grip. “Hey you,” his tone was gentle, fond.

“Hey yourself!” Rook took a step back and pushed Anders lightly. “You scared the shit out of me when you left. We thought you _died_ , you ass.”

“That was the point of shoving a Templar under the burning rubble, yes,” Anders ran a hand over his hair nervously. “It wasn’t you I was running from, I hope you know that.”

“I do. I understand, I think. I just... you were my friend. You could have written or something, to let me know how you were.”

He shook his head. “I’m alive, Rook. I can’t say much more than that. But I am doing pretty well for myself here. Staying low, trying to help others in my... position.”

Rook glanced at Varric, who was wandering around the edges of the clinic and trying very hard to look like he was not listening in. She knew he probably was; she was beginning to suspect he had ears everywhere.

As she looked back to Anders, the sadness behind his eyes made a stone form in her gut. “You’re safe here?” she prodded, quiet.

“As safe as any apostate can be, yes. Plus, I can sense darkspawn from a mile away now, so if that ever comes up again...”

“Pray to your Maker it doesn’t,” Rook groaned. “Or at least that it happens in Orlais or something this time.”

His smile was so very tired, but it was genuine. “I’ll do that. Serves them right, anyway. Do you know how badly mages are treated there? Ever since the Chantry realized how corrupt the templars over the White Spire were, they’ve taken the _logical_ approach of keeping a tighter lock on the mages.”

“Blondie,” Varric chastised as he approached them. “Don’t start with that while we’re all making nice.”

“This is what I _am_ ,” Anders narrowed his eyes at the dwarf. “You could never grasp how important this is.”

“Everyone wants to be free,” he answered, looking up at Anders with no apologies. “Doesn’t mean it comes without a price.”

“There is no price too great for freedom.”

“Yeah?” Varric’s eyes went hard as Rook watched, though the moment passed quickly. A smirk broke across his face instead. “You and Fenris have more in common than you may think.”

Whoever Fenris was, that was apparently the wrong thing to say. Anders’ skin _cracked_ before Rook’s eyes, blue light pouring from beneath the surface. A voice as deep, dark, and twisted as the Chanters in Denerim described the Black City rose from him, driving Rook back in shock and horror.

“You dare compare Anders to him? To the elf who would see us all in shackles to erase his own?”

Varric appeared unmoved. “I wasn’t talking to you,” he said firmly, arms crossed over his bared chest.

The blue light faded as quickly as it appeared, and Anders fell to his knees along with it. Rook wanted to rush to him, but fear and confusion kept her in place.

“What...?” was all she could get out, glancing desperately between Varric and the healer.

“You bastard,” Anders sighed. “You couldn’t leave it well enough alone, could you?”

“What the fuck is going on?” Rook demanded, her husky voice climbing in volume. “Anders, what just happened to you?”

Anders raised his head slowly, remaining on his knees before her. “Justice,” he said quietly. “It’s Justice.”

It took a moment for her to understand his meaning. “How is that even possible?”

“He was a spirit who needed a host, and he... he was to help me. He was the first friend I had who truly understood what it meant for mages to be locked away, to lose everything. But... it has not been an easy transition.”

“You let a spirit possess you?” Rook took a slow step forward. “Why not just find another body for him?”

“Dead bodies rot. Kristoff’s did. He would never pass as a living human, and it would only bring more suspicion upon us both to travel like that. We thought... _I_ thought it would work best if we simply co-existed. But...”

“That doesn’t look like peaceful co-existence.” Rook placed a gentle hand on Anders’ feathered shoulders.

“It’s not. He’s not... there is no line between us. Not any longer, if there ever was.”

“I’m sorry,” Rook offered, feeling almost completely speechless.

Anders’ gaze met and held hers, and he smiled sadly. “There’s a power in this, if nothing else. His skills... his passion... they’ve surpassed even my own. I can use this to make good.”

“That’s why you run this place?” Rook gestured to the clinic.

Anders nodded.

“But are you in control of it? Are you dangerous?” She hated to ask, but she needed to know.

Anders’ narrowed his eyes. “Only to those who deserve the wrath of a spirit of Justice.”

Rook had the feeling there was something he was holding back from her, considering that he had also held back this entire revelation until Varric had pulled it from him with a few words. That troubled her deeply, but she was unsure what steps to take to rectify it.

Attempting any sort of action to detain or bring him with her back to Ferelden would be pointless. She would likely anger the spirit within, and even if she did not -- Anders was a professional escapee. It would not do to cage him, especially when the solutions for a spirit-possessed individual were not kind.

Perhaps he did have it somewhat under control. Maybe he was truly doing good work here, and simply needed to be kept away from this Fenris fellow.

Rook slid both hands firmly and fondly on either of Anders’ stubbled cheeks. “You’re a fool for letting him in. But I trust you. If the soul in there is still, in some part, the Anders I traveled with, I trust you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” Anders said quietly, his eyes searching her face.

Rook leaned forward, bumping her forehead against his with frustrated affection. “Shut up, Anders.”

He was forced to chuckle at that, rubbing his head with one hand. “Still as hard-headed as ever, boss.”

“You’re the reigning champ in that area, and you know it.”

Anders brought himself to his feet, resting a hand on her right shoulder. “I know. Thank you.”

“For what?” She raised an eyebrow, confused.

“For caring. And for letting me go.”

Rook felt moisture gathering in her eyes, so she buried her head into his middle again as she hugged him a second time. “Shut up, you big jerk.”

He held her to himself, and the warmth of his hand on her back made her smile despite the confusion and apprehension she felt for him. As she pulled away, she narrowed her eyes sternly at him. “If you ever fake your death again, I will hunt you down for scaring me like that.”

“I promise you, the next time I die will be the last.”

“Oh, very comforting,” Rook sighed. “Just... reach out to me if you need anything. I’ll be in town for a few days. I’m trying to help Carver while I’m here, too.”

“Maker, you take on all the lost causes, don’t you?”

“Ever since I left Orzammar,” she retorted. “That reminds me, though... could you brew up some potions for me?” She fished around her satchel for some parchment and handed the sheets to the mage. “These are the recipes; Erina copied them from an old text we found in the items shipped to the new Keep. They shouldn’t be too hard, and I have coin for the expenses.”

“Consider it done,” Anders waved her off. “Where should I have them delivered?”

“The Hanged Man.”

Anders glanced over at Varric, then back at Rook. “Ah. I see.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he smirked. “I’ll have them to you by tomorrow.”

“I really appreciate it, Anders.”

He nodded, pocketing the parchments and turning to Varric. “Send Hawke to come see me when you get a chance. I need to talk to her, and she’s been avoiding me.”

“You overestimate my power over her,” Varric argued. “You know where she lives just as well as I do.”

“She’s in poor company every time I try to approach her,” Anders grimaced.

With a disinterested shrug, Varric agreed. “In the interest of maintaining party cohesion, I’ll pass your message along. It’s all I can promise.”

Rook looked over at the door, frowning at the sight of a bleeding young elf. “We should, uh, probably get out of your way. You have customers.”

“The work is neverending around here,” Anders agreed. “I will have those potions to you, all the same.”

“Take care of yourself,” Rook urged.

“You needn’t worry about me,” Anders smiled at her. It was a lie; she could see in his face that he knew it as well as she did. But it was a nice lie.

Once out in the tunnels of Darktown again, Rook found them more dank, cold, and thankless than before.

“You should have warned me,” she said in a hushed tone.

“I wasn’t sure how much you knew. And I... really haven’t quite figured out how to go about explaining Anders to someone else.”

“He’s in pain.”

“He’s doing the best he can, I think.”

“Just... someone needs to keep an eye on him.” She cast a sidelong glance at Varric. “He’s not okay, and I can’t help him with _that_.”

Varric offered her a soothing smile. “He’s in my sights, Chess. Don’t fret too much about him.”

“Thanks.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Varric spoke again. “He... seems important to you.”

“Who, Anders?”

“The very same.”

“He’s one of mine, that’s all.”

“How do you mean?”

“You know,” she urged, “my people. My gang. We all took each other in when we had nowhere else to go, and not much left to fight for. He was after the Blight, but... he’s still one of mine. That doesn’t go away.”

“So you two never...?”

The question could not have sounded more foreign if he had spoken it in Antivan. She held back a deep laugh, and simply shook her head. “No. Fuck no. I... no. Besides, how  is it any of your business?”

“Hey, you opened this door when you asked me about Hawke.”

Rook laughed, a sound that echoed off the walls and made them feel a little less cramped. “I have not had nearly enough drink to talk to you about my love life, or lack thereof. But no, I never had anything with Anders. Or any human. The now-King of Ferelden did flirt with me once, though.”

“You passed up that golden opportunity? Think of the _story._ ”

“I was a little busy fighting darkspawn and trying not to fall into the sky. Shit, I had never _met_ a human before I went topside with Duncan. So no, I’m not really seeking one of them out for some romance.”

As they approached daylight from the tunnels underneath Kirkwall, Rook saw that Varric’s smug smirk was back. Try as hard as she might, she had a difficult time believing it was unrelated to her.

“You, uh, can drop me off at the tavern if you’ve got things you need to do,” she offered. “I don’t want to take up your whole day.”

Varric shook his head as though she had said something pitiful. “You’re an esteemed guest in my city. I’m not leaving you anywhere. Although,” he paused to consider, “Hawke did leave a note for me about a tip she received. Some slavers down by the coast. You could meet the rest of my people if we hurry and get down there.”

Rook’s eyes lit up. “Would I get to fight them? The slavers, I mean.”

“Kid, this is Kirkwall. The ale is stale, but we have skulls to crack on tap everywhere.”

“Then yes,” Rook nodded eagerly. “Let’s find Viona. Let’s meet your people. After a morning like this, I’m ready for some more action.”

“Do you need to stop and get anything first?”

“No,” Rook urged. “Action. Now.”

“Pushy,” Varric teased.

Rook’s mouth twisted up into a crooked half-smile. “You have no idea.”

He pushed the pace of their walk, supposedly to get them to the coast faster. Rook had her own suspicions that it was also an attempt to keep her from noticing the cute way his mouth hung open when she teased him back. Never before had she been so pleased by someone’s failure.


	6. Parting Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric POV chapter: Rook is slotted to leave, and he struggles to make sense of the week they've shared.

**11 Bloomingtide 9:32**

Varric could never decide what his favorite part of a day with Hawke was. The heated buildup of tensions before battle; the desperate action of the fray; the bruised and breathless aftermath; or the glorious afterglow of victory, shared amongst friends in a familiar tavern.

 _Shit,_ Varric caught himself as he downed the last of his drink. _Just what kind of story am I telling here, anyway?_

The smoky, sweaty haze of the Hanged Man was in full bloom that evening. There was a full house of patrons, including the cheerfully loud bastion of misfits he now called friends. Even Carver had managed to wander from the pisshole that was Gamlen’s hovel, and he sat beside Viona looking less sullen than he had in months. Rook’s pep talks that week had done some good, it seemed.

For his part, Varric sat at the end of their favorite table with his back to the fire, staring at the reports that had jammed up over the last few days. Reading them would have been more useful, of course. Words that should have been important to him flew under his eyes, but they were failing to complete their journey to meaningfulness.

It was enough to make a dwarf feel like he was going mad.

Frustrated, he crumpled the parchment he held in hands and threw it over his shoulder, enjoying the satisfying hiss and pop. It was just a fairly boring report of the guard activity in one of the areas assigned to a new recruit in his network. He would have to tell Lannis to work on his prose. And his spelling.

“Varric,” a sweet little seabird sang into his ear. “You’re so quiet tonight.” Isabela draped an arm across his shoulders and laid her head to rest against him.

“Rivaini,” he sighed, “I’d love to regale you all with the tales we just lived through. You know I would. But I’m behind on my work.”

She puffed out a disparaging, impatient breath. “Maybe you wouldn’t be so behind if you weren’t spending every day with the dwarf currently buying our next round of drinks.”

“Yeah? Whose hands do you suggest I leave her in, then? Daisy’s?”

“So you admit you want her in your hands,” Isabela purred into his ear.

“You are drunk.” He glowered at her to get his point across.

“And you,” Rook surprised him when she set down a mug brimming with foam in front of him, “are not nearly drunk enough.”

Varric looked up and immediately cursed himself for sitting on that damned side of the fire. Her brown skin glowed warmly in the flickering light of the flames, while her eyes -- as green as emeralds -- reflected every bit of their heat.

It was enough to make a dwarf know he was _definitely_ going mad.

“What do you have there?” Rook asked before he could speak, sitting across from him.

“Important documents,” Isabela answered for him, adding far too much emphasis on both words.

“Just part of my night job,” Varric ignored the pirate, directing it to Rook.

Rook looked at him with her most skeptical eyebrow, darkened by tattoo ink and suspicions.

“Are they stories?” she asked, innocence belied by her expression.

“Of a sort, yes.”

Rook nodded and did not follow up on the questions churning behind her eyes. Instead, she simply asked: “Do you have any blank parchment in there?”

Varric dug through the stack of papers, finding a simple expense sheet that would make no sense without the context of the paid-off Templars report underneath it. He passed it to Rook, numbers-side down.

“You need ink or anything?”

“I come prepared,” she grinned at him then pulled a thin piece of red-colored charcoal from a small bag at her belt. It looked small in her large hands, but she held it as fondly and expertly as she wielded her sword.

Varric was about to ask her intentions, but he was put off by the sudden intense stare that Rook shot his way.

“Smile a little,” Rook said, narrowing her eyes studiously. He was unsure whether to feel flattered or frightened.

“Why?”

Varric caught the pointed brunt of Isabela’s elbow in his ribs as she turned away from the two dwarves, instead joining an animated conversation about the merits of Fenris’s glowy-hand thing. He grunted and glared at the meddlesome pirate’s back for a moment before focusing on Rook again.

“I want a picture.” Rook shrugged. “If you don’t mind, I mean. But not of you being all surly like you are right now. I want your smirk.”

“I beg your pardon,” Varric sputtered. “Chess, I am not _surly._ ”

“That face right there.” Rook pointed, shaking her head sadly. “That’s surly.”

“You are wounding my pride of character here. I’m the happy dwarf in the bar, the one with the stories. It’s who I am!”

“I hate to break it to you,” Rook sighed dramatically. “You are the grumpy dwarf in the corner tonight.”

Varric felt his damnable mouth slip open, but there were no words coming to fill the space. He simply stalled, agitated by how unequipped he was to deal with Rook’s antics. Her fervor, her directness, her insistence on being so _genuine_... they were all weapons foreign to the borders of Kirkwall. As a rogue, it was terrifying. How can you hide in the shadows of a light so bright it blinds you?

 _That’s good,_ he smirked to himself, _I should write that down._

“Perfect! Hold that,” Rook commanded, pointing again.

Knowing better than to argue with an excited warrior when she issued an order, Varric simply held his position and watched her work. Her strokes were precise, coming out in broad lines and hard edges, reminiscent of sigils on armor from Orzammar’s smiths, but with small details that made them her own. It was somewhat surreal, he had to admit, to watch another’s view of his face come to life before his eyes.

Rook glanced up from the paper with regularity, determination in her brows and the small peek of her tongue through her lips. The fire in her eyes was beginning to get a little hypnotizing.

“Well,” she murmured as her hand stopped its staccato motions. “That’ll do, I think. Not quite a smirk, but close enough.” She held the parchment out to him sweetly. “What do you think?”

He held it carefully between his broad fingers and thumb as he scanned his red, chalky likeness. The art was simple enough, but there was a life in it. He could hear her voice in the short lines and strokes, like a poem without words. Despite how impressed he was with her skill, an unpleasant weight grew in his chest when his eyes fell on the expression he was making in the image. The smirk of satisfaction he had expected to see was just a smile. Fond, familiar.

... _the kind of expression I must have been making when I looked at her_.

“Shit, Chess,” he deflected, handing it back to her. “You could sell prints of this to every noble family in town. Hang it right over their beds.”

“You really like it?”  Her rounded cheeks were flushed, and she looked positively bashful. It was a strange sight on the same face that had been gleefully covered in blood only hours before.

“I really do.” Varric felt that same smile creeping into his cheeks.

“I mean, I normally have more colors to use, but, well... I thought it’d be nice to take a memory home.”

The smile dropped. “You’re leaving?”

Rook laughed. “I’ve caused enough trouble for you and yours, I think. I have Wardens to Command, after all.”

“Yeah, of course. I just meant -- I didn’t know you planned to leave soon.”

“I’m packing tonight, actually. My transport leaves tomorrow morning. Which... judging by how long I’ve been here with your people, I should probably get upstairs and get to it.”

“Do you need any help?” Varric knew the offer was unwarranted as soon as he spoke.

Rook chuckled at him as she stood.  “I think I can pack my own things. But... thank you. For everything else.”

Varric looked up at her, feeling a little lost. _When lost, bullshit._ “It’s been an honor to be the personal guide to the Commander of the Grey,” he said as he stood then bowed.

Rook giggled. “Don’t you start. I like being beneath the notice of people here. It’s been nice to just be Rook here.”

“Well,” Varric offered sadly. “Come be Rook here again sometime, then.”

She grabbed her drawing and folded it carefully before stepping away from the table. “I might just do that.”

“Sleep well,” Varric said, wondering why his words were failing him now.

“Good night, Varric Tethras.” Her parting gift was a friendly chuckle, and then she was up the stairs and out of his sight.

The Hanged Man felt so quiet and still. Peering down the length of the table where his people had been, Varric found himself alone; Merrill and Carver were nowhere to be seen, Fenris and Viona were chatting quietly at a separate table, and Isabela and Aveline were arguing over something by the door.

He should have noticed all of that. Why had he not noticed?

 _Transport_. She had booked _transport_ and he had not been told? Varric looked down at the piles of paper he had been ignoring that week and swore under his breath. He had been far too distracted, and he had fallen behind in checking with all of his contacts. Surprises were dangerous, to him and to his employers, and when his employers were threatened... things went bad.

So why did it feel like such a relief to simply forget about those things for a week? The week he had shared with Rook made him feel like he had come to life, while the thought of reading another fucking report about the comings and goings of his stagnant town felt empty. Dead.

He had to break this spell,  the power she had built up over him. He had a role to play here, and he could not let it go without endangering everything he had built. Without letting down everyone who needed him.

Still, a thought haunted him. _Things always go bad, anyway._

Varric pushed away from the table in disgust and let his legs take him where he desperately wanted to be. Up the stairs. Down the hall. Room on the left. The door was open. Something told him her door would always be open. That was just who she was.

And that was why he needed her out of his system.

Rook turned to face him, and her brow furrowed instantly. “Varric? What’s wrong?”

Hoping he would not be impaled for such a bold move, Varric crossed the room to her. “Nothing,” he breathed, gently cupping her chin in one hand. “There’s just something I forgot to do.”

Her eyes were stunned, but the grin that grew on her face told a million stories he was dying to hear. “Go on then,” she whispered, allowing his hand to guide her.

Varric’s breath betrayed his need in a low sigh as he gave in, lips hunting for hers and finding them hot, soft, slick. The soft fuzz of her hair traveled beneath his fingers, followed by the firmness of her boiled leathers as his hands sought her hips to pull her closer, harder. He needed to taste her sweetness, her life, the way one needed to be bitten once to learn to stay away.

One firm, warm hand rose to his chest as he sucked her bottom lip into his mouth, pulling, teasing. Rook’s response, hard nails dragging over his bared skin, was a taunt of her own. He hissed against her, releasing her lip only to laugh and redouble his efforts.

Her giggle was throaty and luscious as she evaded him, her lips slipping over his own and usurping the lead. He felt her hands all over him, straying into the stubble of his jaw, the unbound locks of his hair, as she claimed her own grip on him. Then they were moving, back, back, until she used one hand to slam the door behind them and the other to push him back against it.

His eyes opened with the impact, his body coming to life as she stalked closer to him, her own eyes playful, hungry.

“Damn, Chess,” he panted, breathless, grinning.

Rook approached him silently, gliding her fingers back to his chest. The touch alone sent shivers down his spine, and sent him aching for her. He reached out to touch her, but his hand was greeted by her arm, raised to deflect it.

“Varric,” she sighed softly, and it was not a sigh of pleasure. “What are you doing?”

“I thought, uh.” He cleared his throat and tried to find his words. “I hoped it was clear.”

“I don’t think anything about you is clear.” Rook’s fingers gently played at the hair on his chest while her eyes stared into his.

He felt exposed. No, even worse: Vulnerable. Her touch was gentle, and gentle was not what he wanted. He needed to shake this distraction, and the only way to do that was the dive straight in, no regrets.

“I thought we... there seemed to be interest, especially just now.”

“You’re right,” Rook said with a frown. “I am interested. _Very_ interested. That was awesome, I promise. It’s just... I don’t know you.”

“You’ve heard me talk about my life for a week, Chess. What don’t you know?”

“You have a story,” her eyes were sharp emeralds cutting into him, and he could only look away. “You say you don’t, but I know you do. You don’t owe it to me, but I want you to know that...”

Rook’s hands fell away from him, leaving a tragedy in their wake. “I don’t know you, but I’d really like to.”

Varric stared at her for a few moments, confused. He was connected. He had influence where it mattered in this town. Pull. Rejection was not something he faced often. Even rarer than rejection, though, was want. He wanted _her_. And a small part of him, an aching, pained part he thought he had shed years ago, wanted to be known.

But it was not enough.

“I can’t,” Varric felt the coward, but he met her eyes as he did it. “I told you, I’m not the protagonist, Rook.”

Rook smiled sadly, nodding. “I understand. But...” She paused and waved her hand. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I’d still like to hear the stories you write. If... if that’s okay. We didn’t get a lot of time for that. I can have someone read them to me at the Keep, when there’s time.”

“Why do they need to read them to--” he cut himself off as realization set in. “Oh.”

Rook looked away. Shame was an ugly color on her.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Varric started, very much wishing someone would put him out of his misery. “I didn’t mean to be so dense. It’s not a good night for me.”

“It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I just never had the chance to learn. But I’m a good listener, and I promise we have people who will do them justice.”

A ghost of a smile broke across his own face. “Yeah. Of course. Shit, Chess, I... might have a better idea, if you’re open to it.”

“Hit me,” she said eagerly, her eyes brightening again.

“Well, I have these stories, all words with no art. And you’ve got, well, art with no words. What would you say to a side business venture with me?”

“You...” Rook’s eyes were wide with excitement. “You want _me_ to draw for you?”

“I’d be honored. I can send you some of the stories I’ve had in the backlogs, and that will give me some reason to start working on them again. And your work definitely won’t hurt sales.”

“Right, sales,” she nodded, beaming. “How’s that work?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Varric chuckled. “Leave the business to me. I’ll give you your fair share, though, I promise.”

“I trust you,” she said. She said that a lot, and he was beginning to realize that she truly meant it every single time. “Thank you. Again.”

“Of course.” He nodded. Varric glanced behind him as it suddenly dawned on him that he was still standing against her closed bedroom door. “I really should leave you to it, I guess. I’m... sorry. About all of this.”

Her look was so warm that he almost felt it against his skin. “It’s been a great week, Varric. Don’t apologize for showing me that. All right?”

“You got it," he breathed out an attempt at a laugh. "The best tour guide in town. I’m fine with that.” He turned and opened the door, ready to leave this behind him.

“A pretty good kisser, too,” she added as he stepped through the door.

He spun, giving her an exasperated look, but she only tittered in response. Sighing and shaking his head, he just said, “Stay safe, Rook. I’ll be in touch.”

Rook smirked. “You’d better be.”

“Go to bed, Chess.”

“Good night, Varric,” she said, finally closing the door behind him, ostensibly to never be seen again.

Varric returned downstairs only long enough to grab a fresh mug before last call, gather his papers, and wordlessly stalk back to his own room. He had work to do, and maybe if he pretended hard enough, the ale would satisfy the thirst deep in his chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Explicit) Bonus Chapter that takes place after Ch. 6 available [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/936909)! Enjoyyyyyy~


	7. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook's back in Amaranthine, but nothing feels right. Guest starring another OC of mine - Erina Tabris, as a recruited Junior Warden.

**2 Justinian 9:32**

Rook settled back into life in Amaranthine with no difficulty. In all, she had been traveling for the better part of a month, but the life of a post-Blight Grey Warden was plodding and repetitive enough that it did not seem to make a difference. Sure, she could fill a day well enough with the minutiae of checking outpost supply lists and command charts, the training of new recruits, and the general hubbub of meetings and decision-making, but fulfillment seemed hard to come by.

For her, anyway. Perhaps to some this job would be ideal. Rook figured the Loghains of the world preferred this kind of work. But, well, that was hardly a glowing endorsement for the position. Still, she paused after a particularly dull meeting -- full of local sharecroppers complaining of the effect that Darkspawn blood had on their crops -- to mourn the great loss of the boring, old, murderous, civil war-inducing fuddy-duddy who could have taken the job from her.

Rook sneaked away from the commons area, taking a short lunch in her private chambers as opposed to the main dining hall. Since returning earlier in the month, she found questions regarding her “personal leave” to be frustrating. There were so many things she could not talk about even if she wanted to; Anders’ safety and Carver’s peace of mind both required her to be quiet.

As for the other thing…

Her desk made a suitably hard place to let her forehead fall.

A firm knock came at the door, in a sequence that made her smile. _Rattattat rattattat rat._

“Come in, Erina,” she called without raising her head. As the door opened, she added, “Close the door behind you.”

Erina did as she was told, a rarity. “What’s wrong with you lately?” The elven woman’s bluntness had a charm to it.

“Nothing,” Rook grumbled.

“Did you get poisoned in Kirkwall?” Erina sat beside her at the desk, the sound of rustling papers in her hands finally making Rook look up.

“That’d be some damn slow poison, wouldn’t it?”

Erina smirked. “You’d be surprised.”

“Our local poisons master been teaching you a few things?”

The smirk faded into a thin line on Erina’s face, irritation in her brows. “He certainly seems to think so.”

Rook cackled. “What have you got there?”

“Orders, mostly. The outpost near the Brecilian forest needs more smithing supplies, and we’re sending a traveling party to Orzammar soon to recruit. Bhelen sends his regards to the Wardens and wants to allow Casteless to compete in their own Provings for status when we arrive.”

Rook raised an eyebrow. “Well. That’s new. They didn’t have that when I was there.”

“I know, Rook. You won it the old fashioned way.”

“Damn right.”

“By cheating and dressing up as a noble.”

“I detect some insubordination,” Rook glowered at her friend.

Erina rolled her eyes. “You going to sign these papers, or are you going to tell me what’s got you hiding from everyone?”

“It’s stupid,” Rook grabbed the top sheet and reached for her ink and quill. Dabbing the point against her tongue briefly, she dipped it in ink and sketched out the image of a castle, reminiscent of her tattoo, onto the appropriate line of authorization as marked by Erina.

“A lot of things are. Tell me anyway.”

She bit down on her lower lip, signing another paper instead.

“Rook.” A firm request, impatience layered on top of genuine concern.

“I met a guy.”

“In Kirkwall?”

“No, in the alley out back. _Yes_ , in Kirkwall.”

Erina handed her another sheet to complete, stern eyebrow raised. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“That’s really all you’re going to say? I’m not great at this girl talk stuff either, but come on. Give me something.”

Rook sighed, pushing the documents aside and lowering her forehead to her desk again. “He works with the people I went to see. Part hired muscle, part informant, part storyteller.”

“Oh, dear.”

“And he’s a _dwarf_ ,” Rook whined pitiably. “I didn’t stand a chance against him.”

Erina’s small hand came to rest on Rook’s scalp, gently rubbing. “I understand that a little too well. Did anything happen between you?”

Rook scoffed. “Like what?”

“Did you talk? Did he buy you a drink? Did he tie you up and spank you?”

“ _Erina_!” Rook sat straight up, eyes wide in horror. “No!”

The elf shrugged. “What? A girl can hope.”

“He did kiss me, though,” Rook whispered as heat traveled to her cheeks. “The night before I left to come back here.”

“You _were_ holding out on me!”

Rook shook her head adamantly. “No, it’s… it’s nothing, honestly. He’s not interested. Not really. I think he just wanted to bed me and be done.”

“There’s fun in that,” Erina shrugged.

“For you, maybe. I can’t… I won’t do that.”

“If you’re anything like me, you’ll try to have your way with him the once, and he’ll just stick around until you’re annoyingly fond of him.”

“Aw, you _do_ like Zevran,” Rook grinned. "You're good for each other."

“The _point_ is,” Erina growled, “there’s no shame in wanting something and taking it.”

Rook looked away from her friend. “Erina, I’ve… I’ve had a history with people wanting and taking from me. Men. For coin or food, and it was never really a great load of fun. I mean, I get it, I do.” Her heart felt heavy. “But I want the romance. I want to know I’m wanted. And I want to know they’ll want me after, too. I don't judge anyone for what they do, but I can't go back there.”

Erina was about to make some kind of comment that would have made Rook laugh away her angst, but a deep voice came from outside the door.

“Warden Commander, there’s a package for you.”

With a nudge of her head in the direction of the door, she sent Erina to handle it while she signed the last of the documents. The sound of parchment paper being torn piqued her curiosity, but not enough to turn around.

“You… got a book,” Erina said, nonplussed. “Oh, and there’s a letter.”

A thrum of excitement came to life in Rook’s chest as her hand stilled. Had he actually remembered? Had he actually meant it?

“Is it from a Varric? Or, uh, Tethras?”

“It’s from ‘Storyteller.’ Gee, doesn’t that just sound familiar...”

Rook stood quickly and held her hands out. “I’ll take that.”

Erina laughed and lifted the package over her head. “Oh, I think not. Not until I hear what this is about.”

“I will tackle you. Don’t think I won’t.”

The elf scoffed. “And then who would read this to you?”

“You’re evil,” Rook hissed, her hands balled into fists at her side.

“I’m manipulative, Rook. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever you are, you’re about to dead to me in five seconds if you don’t hand that over.”

Erina rolled her eyes but obeyed. Rook took the large book eagerly, letting her fingers glide over the leather binding. She set it on the desk and opened it to the first page. The most beautiful handwriting she had ever seen greeted her.

“What does it say?” She looked up at Erina, who leaned over her shoulder in shared curiosity.

“It says, ‘Expedition: Impossible.’ The letter says that’s a working title, and you should forgive him for it.”

Rook’s heart was pounding with excitement she had not felt since returning to the Keep. “Erina,” she started, quiet. “Can you read me the letter? But… whatever it says, it can’t leave this room. You understand?”

“Of course, Rook. Besides, who would I tell? Zevran?”

“Do you two even talk?” Rook nudged her friend.

“Sometimes during.”

Rook chuckled, but the nerves were winning. She let out a shaky breath and sat down. “Okay. Read. And no commentary, even if it hurts you to hold back.”

“ _Fine_.” Erina cleared her throat and began at the beginning of the letter.

* * *

_Rook,_

_I hope this package finds you in good health after your travels. I know I’ve never braved the ocean; I hear she can be a bitch._

_Expedition: Impossible (it’s a working title, forgive me) is the novelization of the descent into the Deep Roads I took with Hawke and my brother. You’ve met everyone in the story besides Bartrand, but his description should be clear enough. Honestly, you can draw him as a walking, talking nug’s asshole for all I care._

_The action’s going to be the big draw, so focus on the fights and the demons. I’m thinking a few full-page illustrations, maybe some drawings for the beginnings of chapters, and a cover… but I’ll trust your eyes on what you think needs to be added. There are empty pages you can use as the sketchbook in this journal, or work with whatever you prefer and send it back that way. I’ll handle the printing on my end._

_Take your time, and let me know if anything sounds off. You know a good story when you hear one._

_Take care, Chess._  
  
~Varric Tethras

* * *

When Erina’s mouth delivered the final syllable of the dwarf’s name, Rook sighed quietly. “Your delivery is _all_ wrong.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Shall I try again with my sexy dwarf voice on this time?”

“No, you ass. I just think you missed some of his inflection, that’s all.”

“You’re taken by this guy,” Erina stated, no question in her voice. “What’s he look like, anyway?”

Rook felt a deep blush creep into her face. “I drew a sketch of him.”  She rustled around her desk drawers until she found her prize. “Here,” she held it up to the elf, trying to keep herself from bouncing as she waited for the review.

Erina’s smirk was customary. “He’s a dwarf, I’ll give him that.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you think he’s handsome? I think he’s handsome.”

“He’s not really the kind of guy I go for, but I can see why you’d like him. That’s a good strong jaw. And he’s smiling at you.”  

When Erina handed the paper back, Rook’s eyes settled onto that smile. “You think?”

“Maker, woman.” Erina sighed. “You _were_ poisoned in Kirkwall. This is disgusting.”

Rook frowned down at the image in her hands. It was hard to disagree with Erina’s assessment. She had been so out of it lately, so focused on… what? Love? She barely knew him, and a good part of that was due to his own refusal to be known. Even so, they had spent very little time together, and even less of it alone. Why was she letting this get to her?

As she put the drawing back into her desk drawer, an uncomfortable tension settled on her shoulders. Was she just looking for something to latch on to? Was she not happy here? This life, the Wardens… she had more power and status than she could have ever hoped to achieve in Orzammar. She had friends, accomplishments -- she was recognized by her own people as someone that mattered. A Paragon. The Brosca name meant something there.

All of her dreams had come true, had they not?

But she was also young. Twenty-one years was too short a time to be out of dreams, and what dreams she had achieved were only dreamt in the depths of Dust Town. They were the dreams of a woman she no longer was.

She had seen Ferelden now. She had seen another land entirely. She had crossed an _ocean._ She had plundered the Deep Roads and scaled mountains. Killing an Archdemon was not her end, it was only her beginning.

Things she had never really known she wanted were rising inside of her as desires, goals. She was tired of bureaucracy. She was tired of politics. Most importantly, she was tired of being alone.

Maybe it was time for some changes. Maybe she needed to let the idea of Varric go and simply appreciate the time he showed her in Kirkwall.

Either way, it would not hurt to continue keeping in touch.

“Rook?” Erina’s voice sounded worried. “Where’d you go in there?”

“I’m here.” She smiled up at her. “I’ve got to head down to lead some training this afternoon. Inspire the young ones, you know. But tonight, do you think you could read some of this story to me? I’d like to know what it is I’m supposed to be drawing, other than Deep Roads and darkspawn.”

“Of course. I serve at your pleasure.”

“Oh, there’s something Zevran’s never going to hear.” Rook laughed.

Erina simply snickered, following Rook as she readied herself for training.


	8. Correspondence Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes on, but our dwarf heroes stay in touch through letters and the sharing of stories from Varric's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lag in updating -- I started strong with this story and will finish it out! But school is making it hard to write as quickly with the quality I want. Hope you're still enjoying!

**17 Justinian 9:32**

Varric set a few silvers in the palm of the elven messenger, who simply nodded, smiled breathlessly, and ran off to deliver the next package from the impossibly large pack on his back.

“Elves,” he sighed, settling back into his seat. A large rectangular package sat beside a long metal tube, each blocking the view of his morning’s work. He recognized the journal, but the tube intrigued him. Her drawings, then?

He twisted the metallic enclosure off the end of the capsule, and out slid several sheets of carefully-rolled, high-quality paper. Smoothing them out across the table, he set heavy candles on either corner of the sheets to hold them from rolling back up.

As he took a step back to observe the work she had done, he inhaled sharply.

They were good.

He flipped from one illustration to the next, his fingers careful not to smudge the coloring done in chalk and coal, and he held his breath. There were large-scale, colorful recreations of the horrors in the Deep Roads -- she would know, after all, he recalled -- and iconized renditions of their team of adventurers. Each had their own personality, telling a story in their own lines.

Varric released a deep breath.

No, not good. They were _perfect_.

As he mused over which work-in-progress to send next, he opened the returned book to ensure nothing else had been added. A small, folded letter rested against the first page. He unfolded it, finding the writing to be small and precise, not at all what he would have expected from Rook, considering. It was only when he saw the header that it made sense -- “ _This message written on behalf of Rook, by her assistant, Junior Warden Erina Tabris_.”

_Varric,_

_That story was intense! Glad you all made it out of there, at least. Hope the drawings are to your liking. Can make changes or add more if you need!_

_I think the title is fine for a big action story, but when Erina read this to me it sounded more like a mystery with high stakes and personal loss. Your brother betrayed you!!!! (E.N.: She asked for all those exclamations). And Viona’s brother nearly died!!!! There’s a lot going on there, so maybe you should focus more on the family stuff and less on the monsters? But keep the monsters!_

_Anyway, I just think there is room for the story to be more about the brothers because everyone with siblings sometimes wishes they were dead. But they would be really upset if it happened, you know? Well, maybe not you. But before the betrayal I bet you’d be sad!_

_Okay Erina says her hand hurts and I had better stop talking._

_Looking forward to the next installment (if you want)!_

 

Varric scanned the letter with no small amount of amusement. He could hear her voice in every sentence, pushed beyond its usual raspy timbre with her excitement. Enthusiastic though it may be, she had a point.

Perhaps a slight change in the tone was called for. Maybe the story did touch a little closer to home than he had admitted in the first draft. He knew how to draw people in, but it seemed she knew how to make them stay.

“All right, Brosca,” he said gruffly. “I see it’s time to give you a bigger challenge.”

“Who are you talking to?” Viona’s voice made his attention snap back to the world around him. The elder Hawke sibling peered into his room from the doorway, eyebrow raised in an iconic expression of confused disdain.

“Myself,” he laughed casually, hoping she missed his jump of surprise. “As usual.” He cleared his throat and attempted to block her view of the table, a pointless effort when she was both faster and taller than him.

Her eyes fell on the drawings and narrowed. “What are all of those?”

“Don’t you knock?” Varric sighed, arms crossed over his chest. “A guy’s gotta do his own business sometimes.”

“‘Your own business’ appears to be drawings from that horrific trip. Why would you want to relive that?”

“It’s for a book, Hawke. You know, that thing I do? Where I tell a story and people pay me for it?”

“I’ve yet to see a single copper from that,” she groused. “Considering it’s my life you’re writing about.”

“I haven’t sold _you_ yet. You’re only just getting popular enough to write about. Give it time. I’ll make a hero out of you yet.”

She looked unimpressed. “Don’t the heroes in your stories die tragically?”

“Give me some credit. If every story ended the same, what would be the point?”

“Yeah? So how do you see my story playing out?”

Varric sized the human up for a moment, squinting in thought. “I see some tragedy, sure, but there’s plenty of comedy to be found in your ensemble. You’ll see a lot of adventure. Probably even a few big romantic moments.”

“Romance?” Viona laughed, and it sounded like chimes in the breeze. “With whom, pray tell?”

“Whomsoever you choose! Don’t pretend you don’t have some on the line already.”

Chuckling, Viona leaned against the table and glanced down at him. “What about you, hm?”

He mimicked her casual posture. “No offense intended, Hawke, but… you’re not exactly my type.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed. “I meant--”

“I know what you meant,” he cut her off quickly, the smile on his face feeling thinner than had aimed. “Bianca’s all the woman I need. Don’t worry about me.”

Her glower was slowly losing its potency on him, but it still stung after two years of friendship. Thankfully, she let the topic rest. “You didn’t tell me how my story ends.”

“You’ll know as soon as I do,” Varric grinned up at her. “Just try to make sure mine doesn't end before, or during the finale of yours. Someone has to write this shit down.”

“Silly me, I forgot that you’re the most important character of all.”

“The narrator has all the power, baby,” Varric settled into his favorite chair and propped his feet up on the table. “Now if there aren’t baddies afoot, I was actually trying to do some work here.”

With an eyeroll, she pushed away from the table. “Nothing big. If you’re busy, I’ll grab Isabela instead.”

“Oh, I think she’d like that,” Varric inclined his head and his eyebrow meaningfully.

“Not…” Viona’s cheeks brightened, and she turned toward the door to hide it. “Shut up and do your work, dwarf. I’m sure you’ve a very important letter to write to some noble or something.”

He smiled as she left. “Something like that.”

* * *

  **13 Solace 9:32**

_Rook,_

_Your work is fantastic, no less than I expected. I’ll take your thoughts into account as I look over that story again. I’m trying out titles with your changes in mind… something like Thaig of the Lost. More mystery there, yeah? We’ll see._

_Since you handled the story about the Deep Roads with no problem (as you did the real Roads; should have invited you down there with us - alas), this time I’ve sent you a story about Hawke’s escape from Lothering. It wouldn’t normally be that interesting, but … well, you’ll see._

_I realize there won’t be much coin to pay you with until I get these into print, so I’ll understand if you want to wait to continue until I can get you your share._

_\- Varric Tethras_

 

Rook sat listening, sketching small details to remind herself of the story thus far. It was only when Erina stopped speaking and she caught what her hand was doodling that her eyes opened wide.

“Wait, what was that last part? A _dragon_?”

“Yeah, I know, right? He definitely says that the Champion of Kirkwall was saved by a dragon.”

“Ancestors,” Rook sighed. “I’m going to need a lot more purple.”

* * *

**15 August 9:32**

_Varric,_

_A DRAGON????????????????_

 

_P.S. Don’t worry about the money! Wardens have money! I just want stories!_

_P.P.S. Hope the drawings are what you wanted!_

* * *

   **17 Kingsway 9:32**

_Rook,_

_YES A DRAGON!!!!!!_

_To be fair, I didn’t believe it either. But I saw the damned ladydragon with my own eyes. Flemeth is… interesting, but that requires more room and time than I have at my disposal right now._

_Your illustrations are charming as ever. I hope this next story lives up to the glory you’re expecting by this point._

_\- Varric_

_P.S. Don’t Wardens have stories?_

Rook looked up at Erina, troubled. “Does he mean he wants me to send him a story?”

Erina shrugged, glancing over the pages of the new book in the candlelight. “I think he’s just teasing. Besides, there’s no way I’m going to write something as long as what he’s been sending. I love you, but no.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” Rook sighed. “It’s just that, sometimes…”

“Sometimes... what?”

“Sometimes I want to be able to do this myself. All the time, really. Not that I don’t value you and your friendship and your service, but… you know. I just I don’t know if I can learn it.”

Erina closed the book and glared at Rook. “Why couldn’t you?”

“Aren’t you supposed to learn when you’re young?”

“You’re young enough,” Erina shrugged. “And I’ve never met anyone as stubborn as you. If anyone can do anything, it’s you.”

A grin burst onto Rook’s face. “You’d teach me?”

“Oh, hang on. I didn’t say that.”

“Erina, you have to!”

“Are you pulling rank on me?”

“What? No! But come on, you have to be the one who teaches me. For … for friendship!”

Erina fingers began slowly massaging her temples. “I’m not a teacher, Rook.”

“I taught _you_ how to be a Warden.”

“You put some blood in a cup and nearly killed me.”

“But you _didn’t_ die, and it was because of how fucking awesome a Commander I am.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You love me,” Rook pleaded.

Erina sighed heavily. “Dammit. I do.”

Rook leaned over and wrapped her arms around Erina’s slender frame eagerly, squeezing her close to her chest. “Thank you!”

“Ow,” the elf grumbled at the force of Rook’s hugs, but her complaints were always warm and accompanied by a gentle squeeze of her own.

“Can we start tonight?” Rook released her, feeling too excited to even think about going to sleep.

“Fine. But only for a little bit. I want to get _some_ sleep tonight.”

“Pft,” Rook scoffed, pulling out a fresh sheet of sketching paper. “Sleep is for you dreamers. Let’s do this thing.”

“Okay, well. I guess we’ll start with the alphabet.”

“Uh-huh.” Rook nodded. “What’s that?”


	9. Breaking Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case it's not clear -- the dates correspond to the main character of that snippet. Thus, Rook reads his letter on Firstfall 14th. He probably sent it a week or two earlier.

**22 Harvestmere 9:32**

“Varric,” Merrill’s voice was soft in his ear, though he barely heard it over the din of the tavern and the work he was trying to complete. “You’ve been reading all evening. Can’t you stop to play a round with us?”

“I’m sorry, Daisy,” his eyes narrowed, struggling to continue reading while speaking. “Ever since Bartrand pulled that stunt and disappeared, I’ve had to work the jobs of two dwarves.”

“Getting rich probably did you no favors with the Guild.” Fenris’s voice joined the conversation.

He glanced over the edge of the report. “You could learn a thing or two about holding onto your money. Isabela clean you out again?”

Fenris smirked. “Seems to be her specialty. Just her and Viona now.”

Varric glanced at the table over, where the pirate was leaning forward on her elbows, just as the mage mirrored her intense stance. Their eyes were locked, and the cards on the table appeared forgotten.

“Um,” Merrill stammered. “Are they going to fight?”

“I wish they’d just get on with it,” Fenris muttered.

Varric grinned. “Are you suggesting what I think you are, elf?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Do I strike you as particularly coy, _dwarf_?”

“No, and that’s why I need you to keep talking about all the things they’re going to do to each other. As soon as I find some paper…”

“Oh, no,” Fenris protested. “I won’t risk Hawke’s wrath so you can write cheap filth.”

“Hey,” Varric held his hand to his own chest, affronted. “I am an _artist_ portraying an... idealized reality.”

“You’re a pornographer.”

Merrill narrowed her eyes. “Wait, you two are talking about--?”

Varric patted her hand gently. “Just don’t… read any of my books, okay? They’re not for eyes like yours.”

“What is so special about my eyes?” She sounded insulted, but he had no time to apologize for the teasing.

“Sounds like we missed an interesting conversation.” Isabela stood at the end of their table, one hand on her hip.

Fenris coughed, his cheeks growing darker by the second. “Who won?”

“Who do you think?” Viona sighed loudly and settled in beside Fenris, quickly followed by the victor. The mage turned to Isabela. “You’re a cheat, but I will catch you one day.”

Isabela laughed. “You’re not the first to promise that.”

“What have you got there anyway, Varric?” Merrill was leaning over his shoulder. She smelled nice, like simple soap and freshly cut flowers -- hence the nickname. She was always standing in such stark contrast to the place she lived now. It was a sad thought, one he pushed away eagerly.

“Don’t worry about all this junk, Daisy. It’s just me keeping all my irons in the fire, where they should be.”

“Should irons be in the fire?” The elven girl’s interest was piqued.

“For a time,” Fenris supplied. “They’re what a smith uses to shape his weapons and tools, and they have to be hot. But you can’t leave them in too long, and it’s bad form to have them all in at once.” He said the last with a pointed raise of a dark eyebrow, directed at Varric.

“I guess I’m just putting my dwarven heritage to shame here, Broody.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time. I still have never heard of a beardless dwarf.”

“Oh, I dunno about that,” Merrill giggled, her hand reaching for his face. “He’s got some scruffles on his jaw, doesn’t he?”

Varric held his hand up, blocking her access to him. “Could everyone _please_ stop talking about me and my ‘scruffles’ and let me work?”

The Dalish woman pouted and sat down sullenly, but her spirits lifted when Isabela reached across the table and held her slender hands. “Don’t let the mean dwarf bother you, kitten.”

Viona turned away from her conversation with Isabela to glower at him. He flinched immediately -- a power no woman had held over him since his mother had passed. “What’s your problem lately?”

“I’m fine, Hawke. Just… busy.”

“With?”

“Guild stuff,” Varric sighed, gathering up his papers. “You know I can’t talk about this with you guys.”

A spare parchment was left from the stack he grabbed, which Viona’s hand snatched with unnatural speed.

“Hawke,” he warned.

She did not reply, and instead took to reading the stray letter. “You’re up to more than Guild stuff,” Viona smirked at him, moments later.

“I’m not _up_ to anything,” Varric growled. “Now give me that.”

Fenris and Isabela peered over Viona’s shoulders. Isabela cackled. “I should have guessed.”

Fenris’s brow furrowed as he stared at the letter, which Varric knew he could not read. “I recognize that symbol…”

“It’s that Warden,” Viona said. “The dwarf woman, Rook.”

“That’s the Hero of Ferelden to you,” Varric groused. “To _me_ , she’s my illustrator. She’s helping me flesh out some stories I had backlogged.”

Isabela cooed pleasantly, but her eyes focused on him like she was a bird of prey and he was a hare in the grass. “How _precious._ ”

“I know for a fact that there is nothing sensational in that letter. You can keep trying to embarrass me; it’s not going to happen.”

“Who is Erina?” Viona asked.

Varric stopped shuffling through his papers and glared at the mage. “Erina is her… assistant. And her friend, I gather.”

“Why does she refer to her so often?”

He felt a sudden twist of anger, defensiveness in his chest, and it came out in his voice. “Rook dictates her letters to Erina. Why?”

Viona’s brow raised at his tone. “I was just curious, Varric.”

“You’ve never been this curious about any of my other side businesses. What gives?”

Viona did not deign that worthy of a response, and instead asked, “How much are you paying her for these drawings?”

He winced. “Well, we haven’t… worked that out yet.”

“She’s working for you for free?” Isabela’s confusion was to be expected: A bad business deal was something both of them could sniff out from a mile away.

“We’re collaborating! She’ll get her share when the sales pick up. And she said it didn’t matter!”

“Rook is working for you out of the goodness of her heart, then?” The glower on Viona’s face had transitioned into utter amusement, and that made him even more uncomfortable.

Varric felt the eyes on him, the smirks and eyebrow raises that claimed to know more about his life than he did. “Whatever you think is happening, it’s not. We’re working together. Stop digging -- you’re wasting your time.”

“I thought she was quite lovely,” Merrill said quietly.

“Varric did too,” Isabela assured her. “He’s being stubborn and surly.”

“See, that’s a good dwarf.” Fenris smirked.

“You know, how about we spend the _next_ hour talking about the looks you three keep giving each other?” Varric forced a pointedly strained smile at his companions across the table from him, who each miraculously found something interesting on the floor, table, or the ceiling to inspect thoroughly.

He snorted and stood. As he snatched the letter from Viona’s hand, he continued, “That’s what I thought. You three can’t take as good as you give. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve actually got to do some work tonight.”

Papers in tow, Varric left the gaggle of his friends behind to discuss his antics. He knew they would, and he also knew they would forgive him and move on by the next morning. They were his family, after all.

Once back in his room, he set his reports down and laid his coat across the table, still clutching the letter from Rook. It had been in the bottom of the stack, delivered without drawings for once, and he had not truly had more than a glimpse at it.

He sank into his favorite chair to begin reading, and a smile broke across his face immediately. Despite the weeks between their correspondence, he never had difficulty picking up right where they had left off.

  _Varric,_

_Flemeth? I know a Flemeth. This can’t be the same Flemeth. How many Flemeths are there? Erina wants me to stop saying Flemeth. Flemeth!  Anyway, I bet you know a lot of stories about her, if it is the same person. I traveled with her daughter, you know. She was a good friend._

_Wardens have stories! I have stories! You don’t even know how good my stories are. Not that the stories you’re sending me aren’t good or anything! I just mean… well, if I’m ever in Kirkwall again, you’ll find out how good my stories are._

_Still working on the drawings. Had some new recruits come in recently, and other projects have come up. But I am still working on them!_

_I just wanted to give you an update._

 

_P.S. When you get this, it’ll almost be time for that holiday with the masks! [E.N.: Satinalia] Do you do that in the Free Marches? I saw my first one last year, and it was pretty fun. Kinda hard to hide behind a mask when you’re the only dwarf in the room, though._

 

The work he owed the superiors breathing down his neck slipped from his awareness, just for a few peaceful minutes, as he drafted his response.

* * *

**14 Firstfall 9:32**

“This is hard,” Rook puffed out a short breath of frustration as she squinted at the page in front of her. Her hand was aching, and the results of her labors were not looking like anything she had seen written before.

“You should try teaching you,” Erina said, drumming her fingers on the back of Rook’s chair.

“Nobody’s forcing you to be here!”

The elf sighed. “You’re my Commander. I can’t just say no.”

Rook pouted up at her. “You know that’s not true.”

Her instructor flopped into an adjacent seat and shrugged. “Yeah, I know. Sorry. Zevran’s off on a secret adventure and I’m…” She waved off the end of the sentence.

“Worried about him?” Rook pried. “Lonely?”

“I was going to go with horny, but… ugh, yes.” Erina groaned with irritation and deflated in her seat. “That asshole.”

“Oh! Help me write that one!”

Erina smirked. “You want to learn how to write ‘asshole’?”

“I think it will come in handy.”

“Rook, you can’t send out official letters from the Wardens with words like ‘asshole’ in them.”

“I won’t! I just want to know. Come on, please?”

Erina was mid-sigh when a shaky voice called out from behind the door. “Mail’s here, Commander.” She continued her sigh as she pulled herself out her chair and trudged to the door, opening it with exaggerated annoyance.

Rook winced as she heard only bits of Erina’s curt conversation with the new recruit, a human man -- barely older than a boy -- who miraculously survived the Joining. Erina hated him. She hated all humans at first, though.

“You should be nicer,” Rook glanced back at her friend.  

“You should recruit more elves,” Erina responded, settling back into her seat.

“You know, if I keep recruiting more humans, the odds of them dying during the Joining are pretty high.”

A slow grin grew on Erina’s face. “I never thought of it like that before.”

“You’re sick.That shouldn’t have worked.”

Erina ignored her, pulling a small package out from the letters addressed to Rook. “I’m not the one trying to learn how to spell ‘asshole’ so I can write dirty letters to my dwarven penpal.”

Rook kneed Erina’s leg whilst glaring. “That’s gross. You’re gross!”

“I guess I’m too gross to read this for you, then?”

The elven woman held a small package covered in handwriting that Rook could not read, but could recognize for its form. A thrum of excitement wound through her chest, her parchment and quill entirely forgotten on her desk. He had written back? He had sent her something? She still had a few illustrations left to complete, and… whatever was in that package was too small to be another book.

“No, you’re perfect and wonderful!” Rook waved her hands at her urgently. “Go, read!”

Erina pulled a letter from the parcel and passed the rest of the wrapping on to Rook before she began reading.

 

_Rook,_

_Do we do Satinalia? Do we ever. There’s a ball in Hightown that gets the fancy types all excited, but the real party’s down in Lowtown. Though I’m told it’s fun to stop by Hightown and take advantage of inebriated nobles’ poor judgment with their money and belongings. Wouldn’t know anything about that firsthand. Nothing whatsoever._

_But yeah, we do the masks and the drinking and all. The town is also supposed to choose a “fool” as ruler for a day, but that part got nixed a few years back when Knight-Commander Meredith got named as a joke and she reacted… badly._

_There’s no rush on the illustrations. I’ve been backlogged with work, Hawke, and the perpetual search for my brother. Wherever he is, I don’t think he wants to be found. That’s not new, but him actually being able to hide from me? That’s new._

_Anyway, this gives me some time to write up some other adventures. Just let me know when you’re ready for something new._

_\- Varric_

_P.S. It’ll be too late once you get this, but I’ve sent you a Satinalia mask I think you’ll enjoy. It still may not help you hide in a room full of humans, but I think it suits you._

_P.P.S. I’m holding you to that story challenge when you’re back in my town, Chess._

Rook listened, rapt, until the letter was over before fishing around in the package for the mentioned gift. Her fingers found the detailed edges of the mask, and her breath caught in her throat.

“You okay?” Erina set the letter aside.

“I’m fine,” Rook murmured, staring down at the parcel as she slowly extricated the mask. Her vision felt narrowed, and her heart was racing. She knew it was just a silly little thing, but… her life was still not one full of things like thoughtful gifts. Along the road, she had shared items with her companions when they struck her as something they might like, but it was not common for them to do the same.

She was _used_ to the fact that she ceased to exist to others when she was not around. It had taken time to realize she existed to others even when she was in the same room with them. There was no bitterness in her memories, nothing tragic pulling at her, but the contrast made the current anomaly in her hands that much more exciting.

The mask was covered first in a checkerboard pattern, white and black squares painted cleanly onto its surface. On the edges, there were various patterns of golden detailing with thread and beading, in a fashion Rook could only think to call “swoopy.” The best part was the “crown” between the eyes of the mask, however. In Ferelden, many masks she had seen came to a point between the eyes, with the point styled to look like a tiara or a royal crown.

The mask she held was not pointed -- it was squared into the shape of her favored chess piece, her namesake.

Rook looked up at Erina after a long minute of staring at the item in her hands. The elf was silent as well, her brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” Rook prodded. She held the mask up to her face, where it was shaped perfectly to her features. “Doesn’t it suit me?”

“Perfectly.” The word had never sounded so droll before. Rook knew Erina had more to say, but the woman’s face echoed her refusal to elaborate.

As she lowered the mask back to her lap, she felt her excitement shift into discomfort and confusion, but she could not place their cause. Erina’s judgmental stare was normally ineffective at producing such a result, but… this felt personal.

Eager to replace that feeling, Rook slipped the mask into a drawer on her desk and stood. “This lunch break has been pretty long, huh? It’s probably way past time for me to do some rounds and prepare for training. What do you think?”

“You need me for all of that?”

Rook smiled at her friend. “I always need you. Besides, I need you to know what’s what.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re going to be my Constable.” Rook marched off toward the door with a smile on her face, proud that she was able to deflect the awkward tension back onto Erina.

“I’m _what?_ ” There was a satisfying scuffle as Erina stood and chased after her.


	10. Missteps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook explores her plans for the future, while Varric makes an embarrassing mistake.
> 
> (Dates correspond to when the letter was received or when the scene is happening.)

**14 Firstfall 9:32**

“You want me to be the _Constable?_ ”

Rook’s laugh filled the armory as she prepared for training. “You’re my second-in-command already, Erina. Everyone knows it. I just want to make it official.”

“I’m not really cut out for leadership.”

“You’re wrong, but it’s okay. I know you’re going to be great, and I have plenty of time to help you see it. Hand me my gauntlets?”

Erina obliged with a disgruntled breath of frustration. “I think you’ve lost it.”

“Maybe! I guess that means you’ll have to take over immediately, then. Dang!” Rook winked at Erina’s scowling face. “Come on. Let’s show these new Wardens that it’s not all about pigging out and having nightmares.”

“Do I get to call some of them scumbags?” Erina looked hopeful.

“How about you just watch me do the leading today?” Rook smirked until the pout on the elf’s face made her cave. “Fine, you can call two people scumbags, but make sure they deserve it.”

“Don’t they all?”

With a snort, Rook brushed past her and exited the armory, knowing Erina would follow in her own time. The woman was frustrating in her denial of her own potential, but… well, Rook knew that feeling. She also knew how much it helped to have someone believe in her.

Faces passed above her in the hall, bodies straightening in respect as she walked past. The power she wielded in the estate was ever-present. While the honor of the title was not something she took for granted, Rook found herself dreaming of another trip, another chance to be just a dwarf on the road. She needed to share the power with another, before the urge to run overtook her.

As Rook sat dictating to Erina her response to Varric that evening, she took a newfound joy in the letters as an escape. This was new, an adventure -- a friend who knew little about her and did not presume her story as the Hero of Ferelden to be truth of her. Her words traveled the distances she could not, and she took a short journey every time she heard his response.

It would do, for the moment.

* * *

**12 Haring 9:32**

_Varric,_

_I heard about Meredith while I was in town. Anders sure had a lot to say, and I’m glad I didn’t run into her. The Hightown party reminds me of Orzammar during some big Provings -- there were estates left wide open for the taking for anyone brave enough to try it, because all the guards wanted to see the show, too. Of course I didn’t do it either! That would be stealing! And wrong!_

_Things sound pretty tough right now, I’m sorry. Were you and your brother close before the stuff in the Deep Roads? Wish I could help track him down for you, or do something more helpful. If I hear anything out this way I’ll let you know, but… I guess he probably didn’t leave to become a Grey Warden._

_Illustrations are in this shipment, so I’m ready when you have something new. But it’s okay if it takes some time. Ferelden’s frozen over and things just run slower out here these days. And I’m still not used to it being so damn cold, so I’m running slower too._

_Oh! The mask is amazing! I don’t know how you found something so perfect. I love it, and I’ll definitely wear it next time there’s a reason to. I may just wear it around for fun. I’m the boss and nobody can stop me!_

__

 

_P. S. Does it get cold in Kirkwall? If not, I may be moving there soon._

_P. P. S. If you’re too busy, it’s okay if you need to hold off on this stuff with me._

* * *

**15 Wintermarch 9:33**

_Chess,_

_Morale can always be improved by the wearing of costumes. I always thought the Grey Warden uniforms could use some extra zazz, anyway. Maybe that’s why Carver refuses to fully join. His fashion sense is too evolved._

_I appreciate you keeping your ear to the ground, but I don’t think it’ll be worth your time. This is a family matter, one that’s a long time coming, and one that would take… too much time to explain. If he does show up at your doorstep, though, make sure and give him the **extra** tainted blood._

_Ha, I’ve heard Ferelden winters can be nasty. In fact… As payment for these illustrations, there’s another package coming with this story. Hope you like it -- I know it can be hard to find good tailoring for persons our size. Let me know if it doesn’t fit the bill (or you)._

_Hope you didn’t get into too much trouble on First Day._

_\- VT_

_P. S. Kirkwall is balmy and fishy year-round. She’d happily take you any time._

_P. P. S. I’m never too busy for stories, Chess._

Rook held the fur-lined coat to her chest and buried her nose in the hood, inhaling the fresh scent of leathers and clean, well-tailored craftsmanship.

“How did he even afford this?” She sighed happily, slipping the coat on over her casual clothes; it fit like a dream.

“I think I know how.” When Rook looked up at Erina, the elf’s eyes were wide and her cheeks were flushed. Rook followed her gaze to the book in her hands and her eyes narrowed.  

“The books? I mean, I know he sells books, and they’re good but… I don’t know if reading is _that_ common in Kirkwall.”

Erina shook her head firmly. “This… isn’t that kind of book.”

“What are you talking about? What’s it say?” Rook craned her head over the pages, even though she still could only recognize one word out of any given page.

“Oh, Maker,” Erina flipped through a few more pages and her face grew several shades redder.

“Erina! You’re killing me!”

Her friend stared at the pages a moment longer before shuddering, closing the book, and meeting her glare. “I am _not_ reading this to you.”

Rook huffed. “Like crap you’re not!”

Erina placed both hands firmly on Rook’s stout shoulders. “I love you, and I would do almost anything for you. But I will not sit here and read smut to you slowly, over and over again, so you can draw it. Not a chance.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This book is not an adventure story, Rook. It’s about people having a lot of sex. A _lot_.”

Rook felt every ounce of blood in her body rush to her cheeks at once. “It’s _what_?”

Erina continued, “Right, so, I think we should just write your friend a nice letter and tell him to send more books with dragons, and fewer books with dicks.”

“I can do it,” Rook groused. “He wouldn’t send it if he didn’t want me to draw it, right?”

Erina laughed and raised her hands in defeat. “Sure, boss. But who are you going to get to read this stuff to you?”

Rook’s eyes gleamed with an idea that Erina hated immediately. “Oh, no you don’t.”

“Come on! Zevran’s already seen me naked, so he won’t be all squirmy about it! You know he won’t mind!”

Erina covered her face with both hands, issuing an exasperated sigh. “I miss darkspawn.”

* * *

**16 Wintermarch 9:33**

Varric knelt beneath tables and chairs, digging like a madman through every box of writing materials and rough drafts he possessed. Once his entire uprooting of his room was complete, he sank onto the edge of his bed, breathless and frustrated.

“Shit,” he sighed as he ran a hand through his unbound hair. “Where could I have put…”

Terror struck him like a knife in the kidney. He jolted off the bed and ran to the last box he had searched. Sure enough, the tale of a renegade guard rooting out corruption within the force was still there, while his draft of _Heist at the Blooming Rose_ was nowhere to be seen.

He began penning the apology letter to Rook as soon as he stopped laughing.


	11. Missed Fortunes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric sent Rook the wrong book, a humiliating mistake. What is the fallout?

  **16 Wintermarch 9:33**

A gentle knock came at the doorframe later that evening, followed by the quiet padding of Zevran’s leather boots as he entered her study. Rook knew he could be silent when he wished; being heard was always a deliberate choice on his part.

Standing from her desk where she had been practicing her letters, Rook greeted him with a hug and burrowed her head into his chest happily. He chuckled and squeezed her tight, rubbing her head with affection.

“Erina says you have a task for me? Just as I was beginning to feel jealous that you two never invite me to your evenings.” His teasing was as charming as his smile.

Rook rolled her eyes and leaned back against her desk. “Zev, you’re not invited because we’re actually getting work done. Sometimes.”

“It does seem that you are keeping her quite busy. She is to inherit your kingdom, I hear?”

“She could do a lot of good here, and she has a better mind for this stuff than I do. Are you worried about it?”

Zevran grinned. “I am not fool enough to worry about Erina. She will be excellent, as she is in all things. Now, what does my dear Warden desire from me this evening?”

“I need you to read me a story,” Rook held the book out to him. “And I’m going to draw it.”

Eyebrow raised inquisitively, Zevran took the tome from her. “This is another function of Erina’s, is it not?”

“She’s being… difficult.”

“ _Ay_ , no,” he gasped. “What could possibly lead her to be so?”

She settled in at her desk and grinned. “Read the book, Zevran.”

The assassin paged through the book idly, a bored pout on his lips until his fingers struck gold. “Oh my.”

“Yeah. Erina felt weird about reading that stuff out loud to me, so let’s go. C’mon. Hit me with it.”

“ _Amor_ , I do so miss hearing those words from your lips.”

Her laugh threw her head back. “You’re with Erina,” she said after catching her breath. “I’m sure she’s more than enough for you.”

“She is perfectly wonderful, it is true.” Zevran stepped behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. “But that does not mean I will not treasure you for the rest of my days.”

Rook sighed happily and squeezed his hand. “I know, Zev. I love you, too.”

His thumb brushed the top of her hand. “You are happy?”

“I get by. You and Erina keep the place from being too lonely.”

“And what of this,” Zevran inspected the front of the book, “Varric?”

“What about him? He sends me stories, I illustrate them.”

“This is about duty, then?” He sounded unconvinced. Rook couldn’t blame him.

“It’s… just nice, I guess. To have someone interested in my work. To talk to someone new. I don’t know.”

Zevran kissed the top of her head. “I understand. I will question you no further. Shall we get to work?”

Rook rubbed her hands together eagerly. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

  **Wintermarch 18th, 9:33**

Erina cleared her throat from the doorway to Rook’s quarters, interrupting Rook’s boisterous laugh as Zevran attempted to dramatically re-enact the poses described in the book.

“Having fun, I see?” Erina strode into the room purposefully, eyes narrowed.

Zevran immediately sat upright and attempted to straighten his tunic, smiling sheepishly. Rook’s laugh was a bit forced, but she knew Erina’s bark was more fearsome than her bite. Most days.

“Did you decide to join us after all?” Rook asked hopefully.

“It is really quite an enjoyable read,” Zevran offered.

Erina smirked and tossed a letter onto the bed beside Zevran. “No, I’m here to deliver a very special message I just received from a breathless messenger. It seems he ran here all the way from Kirkwall.”

“Across the ocean?” Rook was stumped.

“Something like that.” Erina settled in beside Zevran, her stony demeanor taking on some warmth as she crossed her legs and leaned against him. “Why don’t you take the honor of reading this letter from her dwarven penpal?”

Zevran unfolded the letter and cleared his throat.

  _Rook,_

_I am sending this with my fastest courier. Please disregard the book sent to you last. Those stories are for a very specific audience; while I’m certain they would appreciate illustrations, I had no intention of making anyone draw them, much less someone with your talent and standing._

_If I could send my head on a plate as payment for such a humiliating mistake, I would. I hope this has not permanently damaged our working arrangement. Or your ears._

_Embarrassingly yours,_

_-VT_

 

“That was a terrible impression,” Rook sighed. “Nobody can get him right.”

Zevran grinned. “You mean to say he does not have an Antivan accent? Such a shame.”

“That would likely incapacitate Rook entirely,” Erina teased.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rook demanded.

Erina tossed her ponytail over her shoulder and looked busily at the ceiling. “Why would it mean anything?”

Zevran raised the letter to gather their attention once more. “May I point out the important part of this message? All of our lewd endeavours have been for nothing. This pains me. Those drawings are the definition of art.”

An indomitable smile stretched across Rook’s cheeks. “You’re kidding, right? He sent me the book, he can face the consequences. We’re sending these drawings to him.”

Zevran made a soft sound of appreciation. “Ah, this is why I love you.”

“Aw,” Rook blushed and stood from her seat. “Scoot over you two.”

“What?” Erina bristled. “Why?”

“‘cause I’m coming in.”

Rook ran toward the bed, taking a dive that would send her and her friends into the center of the bed to be forcibly snuggled.

* * *

  **28 Wintermarch 9:33**

When the response from Rook did not come as quickly as his panicked attempt to rescind his smut, Varric was worried.

When the post came over a week later, Varric was mortified. Perhaps she had been offended, perhaps he had damaged their working arrangement.

When he saw the letter she sent was accompanied by a book-shaped parcel, he was relieved.

When the messenger returned a few minutes later with the larger, flat parcel of what he knew to be illustrations, he was speechless.

His fingers fumbled at the letter first, hoping to find some kind of explanation.

  _Varric,_

  _This was my favorite story. Ever._

_Happily yours,_

_P. S. - I never back down from a challenge._

_P. P. S. - If you don’t want the illustrations feel free to send them back. I have a friend who wants to cover the walls in his room with them._

_P. P. P. S. - I hope you have a great what’s it called? Wintersend? You do the Maker thing, right?_

Varric set the letter down on the table, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples with a heavy exhalation. Mid-sigh, the breath became choppy, replacing his dread with pure laughter.

As his eyes scanned the packages on the table, an uneasy awareness crawled into his shoulders. This girl -- no, this woman -- she was like none he had met before. She was not a figure he could predict, not one he could easily fit into the narrative he tried to create for himself. It was frustrating, but it was also intriguing. Compelling.

And as tensions in Kirkwall increased - between human and qunari, between mage and templar, between one dwarf and a guild breathing down his neck - her letters were an escape. When he read them, though they were not written in her own hand, the words always rang with the perfectly raw quality of her voice, her spirit. Her drawings echoed the determination and life she carried with her. The parchment always smelled like she had tasted when his lips had been on hers, long months ago.

That last thought made him clench his jaw, a tightening in both hands wrinkling the paper he held.

No. She was more than charming and compelling. She was dangerous.

Varric set his quill and the packages aside, to be opened at a later date. Though a piece of him longed to laugh while viewing her work, to write back to her immediately with his approval, a much louder voice told him to wait. Get some distance.

He sighed heavily as he closed the door to his room and went downstairs to find his companions.

_Distance. Right. As though the fucking ocean wasn’t enough._

 


	12. Safe Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Varric expressing a need for distance, Rook is confused, and Varric's companions are worried for him.

**20 Drakonis 9:33**

As Erina handed a full coin purse over to a vendor, Rook slung a bag over her shoulder with a grunt, trying not to jostle the abundance of potions and runes too much in the transit. Though she had little evidence of such, she suspected bad things happened if you mixed the two together.

“But if you’re worried about that, why not carry them in separate bags?” Erina asked as they set back to wandering around the market.

“Because carrying extra bags is more work,” Rook said with a shrug. “I can handle a little magic explosion.”

“What if Amaranthine can’t?”

“Pft,” Rook snorted. “Whoever heard of a city being destroyed by a little magic?”

“... you’re kidding, right?”

Rook’s attention was gone. “Ooo! Candies!”

Erina’s puff of frustrated air blew her bangs out of her eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah, just hungry.” Rook flipped a silver to the vendor and nabbed herself a pouch of hard candies, which she immediately began sucking on. “You were saying?”

“Never mind. Where’s our next stop?”

Rook thought for a moment. “I think we need to place an order for some new armor for recruits. Our supplies were damaged when the Keep was attacked, and we’ve got enough new folks around that it actually matters.”

“Will we be stopping to get you more inks? I think you’re running low.”

“I don’t think so.”

“But what about your illustrations?”

Rook’s smile missed her eyes. “We finished the last set a while back, remember?”

Erina squinted suspiciously. “He hasn’t sent new stories?”

“Nope.” Rook pushed past the elf, peering with unlikely interest at a booth full of mining equipment. Erina’s second sigh suggested she was not falling for Rook’s new career choice.

“Did something happen, Rook?”

Shoulders heavy, and not just from the bag of magical goods she carried, Rook shrugged. “How would I know? Maybe he got offended by the drawings I made of his sexy story. All I know is he sent a thank you note and some coin, and that’s all I’ve heard since.”

“Would someone who _wrote_ a sexy story get offended by sexy drawings?”

“I sure didn’t think so, but I guess I don’t know him that well. Maybe he’s complicated.”

“I don’t think it’s a ‘maybe.’”

Rook glared over her shoulder at Erina. “I don’t know what happened, and I’m just… I’m fine with the sketching stuff I’ve got for now, okay? We’ll come back if he -- if we need anything. I always like our trips to Amaranthine. It’s good to see this place back on its feet, you know?”

“Right,” Erina’s eyes spoke volumes that her lips wisely chose not to share. “I do love a comeback story.”

“Like us!” Rook grinned up at her friend.

“Yes,” she laughed softly. “Just like us. We can come back from anything, can’t we?”

“So far!”

As they took off toward the armorer, Rook took a firm and sudden hold of Erina’s hand. To her credit, her often-aloof friend responded instantly, squeezing the warrior’s hand with affection even while she seemed lost in another world of slightly angry thought.

* * *

**30 Drakonis 9:33**

As the last Tal’Vashoth slumped over the rocks, Varric slung Bianca over his shoulder and sighed. “How many of these guys could there _be_?”

“Shh.” Isabela nudged him with her hip and held a finger to her mouth.

“Right,” he grumbled under his breath. “Maker forbid we interrupt the lovebirds.”

Viona snorted and gave Varric a small pat on the shoulder. “Aveline deserves it, Varric. She’s done a lot for us.”

“She’s never arrested us,” Fenris observed as he wiped blood from his blade with a cloth. “Worth something, I suppose.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “About 150 gold a week, but no, no thanks for the dwarf who kept the guard off your tail before she took over.”

Isabela gave his ponytail a not-so-gentle tug. “What has gotten into you? I thought you appreciated a good love story.”

“A captain falling for one of her guardsmen?” Varric shook his head as he squinted and peered down the cliffside at the pair they were tracking. “Cliche. Besides, nobody likes law enforcement. Especially you, Rivaini.”

“They’re getting closer,” Fenris warned.

“And they’ve yet to do _anything_ ,” Viona sighed.

Isabela shrugged. “I knew the girl was dense, but I thought nature would step in _eventually_. Maybe we should let some qunari attack them? Get their blood pumping?”

Fenris stepped beside her and smirked. “Yes, nothing says romance like potentially fatal stab wounds.”

“That’s actually how she lost her first husband,” Viona winced. “Best not to relive that.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Varric groused. Before anyone in the group noticed, he began the trek down the cliffside and toward the guards. The calls for him to wait came soon enough, but he ignored them.

Aveline was clearing her throat awkwardly when he approached, not surprising given how awkwardly she did everything else that day. “So I think we’re done. Good patrol--” her commendation came to a halt as she bumped into Varric.

“Watch it!”

She stepped back and glared. “What are you doing here?”

The clatter of heavy footsteps fell behind him, soon followed by a firm hand grabbing his shoulder. Aveline looked more agitated than Viona’s grip felt.

“What are you _all_ doing here?” she demanded.

“I’m trying to help,” Viona said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

“None of your business, Hawke.”

Donnic, for his part, looked about as confused as he always did. “Did something happen? Do you all need help?”

Isabela took the opportunity. “Oh, sweetness. We’re not the ones needing your helping hand right about now.”

“Shut up,” Aveline ordered. “ _Now_.”

Varric’s blood began to boil, for reasons he could not, or did not want to, place. “I expect so much better from all of you, I swear. Donnic, Aveline asked you here on a _date_. Do the poor woman a favor and either kiss her or put her out of her misery now.”

The pair of eyes saddled between two very impressive muttonchops blinked. “You… what?”

Aveline’s face became even more pale than usual, horror and rage in her eyes. Varric was unmoved.

“Is this true?” the guard prompted again.

Aveline deflated, refusing to face him. “We… have things we should discuss when we get back to the barracks, guardsman.”

“It seems we do. I’ll... see you there, Captain.”

Donnic’s stride away from the group was as uncertain as wherever he placed his razor. Once he was out of earshot, however, Aveline’s target was sure. The world closed in quickly on Varric as her hand grabbed the lapels of his coat and pushed him, hard, against a boulder. The stone jutted into his shoulderblades, and he worried for Bianca’s safety.

“I ought to kill you, dwarf. Do you know what you’ve done? He’ll file a _complaint_ now, there may even be an investigation. Charges. I could lose everything!”

Air was hard to come by as his feet left the ground. “You worry… too much.”

“Excuse me?” It was a snarl, and he suspected she did not really want to be excused.

The world was beginning to go a little hazy, but before his vision went black entirely, he heard Isabela grunt and Aveline hiss. He fell to the ground, a mouthful of sand his greeting, and when he came back into awareness the two women were shouting at each other.

Fenris’s sharp talons rested beside Varric, his voice a welcome distraction. “Are you hurt, dwarf?”

“I’m fine,” he grunted. “She can’t steal dignity I don’t have. Is Bianca all right?”

“Your bow lives to tell another tale. Perhaps you should worry more about soothing the fights you started?”

All of the women in the party were at each other’s throats. Well, more specifically, Isabela’s dagger was at Aveline’s throat, who had a sword drawn at Viona, who had her staff pointed at Isabela and her hand (equally dangerous, from Varric’s estimation) at Aveline.

“Ladies, could we try _not_ slaughtering each other today?”

In turn, each woman slowly pointed their weapon at him.

“Really?” Varric threw his hands in the air. “Aveline, we were doing you a favor. If your prince really does run away, you can personally come skewer me with your big pointy sword. But give him a chance to disappoint you before you decide it’s over.”

A sick feeling grew in his stomach, followed by a familiar voice in his mind, the one that always warned him when stories were getting too personal. _Strangely apt advice there, old chum._

The voice had a very annoying accent.

“Shit,” he sighed. “I’m going home. Kill each other if you want, I guess. Someone take notes. It might make an interesting story at least.”

He turned away before he could see the response. The road was long, but it was pointed the only direction he wanted to go -- a bar.

* * *

**2 Cloudreach 9:33**

From her position on the bed, Rook flopped her arm over her eyes. “I want to write him a letter.”

Erina, stretched out beside her, grunted. “The trainer? I agree. I’m exhausted. I haven’t run that much in… ever.”

“No,” Rook whined. “Varric.”

“Oh. Him.” A beat. “Why?”

“I just want to know if he’s okay. We’re friends, right? I think? Who knows what’s happening in Kirkwall. I hear they have Qunari problems.”

“And you want to, what? Offer him seduction tips? That’s how you dealt with your Qunari problem, isn’t it?”

Rook nudged Erina a touch too hard, resulting in a hissed swear.

“That’s not what I had in mind, no. Though now that you mention it, I do wonder what the Arishok looks like.”

Erina rubbed her own arm tenderly. “You have a problem.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you had seen him. No problem at all.” Rook sat up suddenly, a realization sparking her energy. “I could send Sten a letter, too! Couldn’t I?”

“You can’t just address a letter to ‘Sten,’ Rook.”

“I know his full title. Or what it used to be. They’d get it to him, I know they would. They’re organized.”

“Fine, fine.” Erina dragged herself up to a sitting position. “So who are we writing to first?”

Rook scrambled to her desk for papers, inkwell, and quill before excitedly hopping back onto the bed. She grinned as she held them out to Erina. “Varric. Oh, but, can I try that thing I’ve learned afterward?”

“What thing?”

“The thing! You know.”  Rook gestured with her hands emphatically in place of explanation. Still, Erina seemed to understand.

“I’m here to help. So come on, let’s get this over with so I can get some sleep.”

“Sure,” Rook said with a grin as she laid out beside Erina, chin in her hands. “Sleep.”

“Start talking, or I start walking, missy.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

* * *

**10 Cloudreach 9:33**

A mug of ale collided into Varric’s arm, alerting him to the presence of a visitor and disrupting his impromptu nap over his reports. As he lifted his head and wiped a bit of drool away from his chin, Viona’s tattooed and irritated face came into clear view. The door to his room was closed, and she was his only guest.

He straightened his lapels and took hold of the ale. “Can I help you?”

Viona sat across from him and leaned forward on her elbows, an intimidating position for the already-imposing woman. Her mouth was a thin line as it told him, “Drink.”

Varric narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re a direct lady, but I sure hope this isn’t your grand plan to do me in: Ordering me to drink poisoned ale.”

That got a smirk, at least. “That would be rather artless of me, wouldn’t it? Just drink, you little shit.”

“Harsh words,” he mused, but he tipped the mug to his lips and drank deep of the stale, familiar ale.

“So you do know when someone’s being rude? Funny, it seemed you had misplaced that understanding lately.”

Varric glared over the rim of the mug. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Keep drinking.”

“Hawke, what is this about?”

“I need you to be less sober, so you’ll open your blasted mouth and tell me what is going on with you.”

He grumbled. “There’s nothing to say.”  The sharp glare of her green eyes sent him back to drinking, all the same.

Viona had a face that was as soft as it was hard. Her cheeks were gently curved, but her chin was strong, prominent. Her lips were full and beautiful when they smiled, but her nose was a sharp angle protruding from above. Her eyes were like a round, green meadow, but her eyebrows were thin and pointed. And her hair was an auburn ocean, but very often it was tied behind her in a tight, severe bun.

_Uh oh._

“What did you put in this?” Varric glanced down at his mug, warned by the sudden poetic observations.

“Not poison,” Viona said with a knowing smile.

“Shit, you magicked me.”

“I would do no such thing. Anders, however, knew of a party trick spell from his Circle days. Enhanced Intoxification. Lovely, isn’t it?”

He set the now-empty mug down and leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the sudden carousel that was his room. “What do you want, Viona?”

“You’ve been a bastard lately.”

He chuckled. “I know my mother and my father, thank you.”

“Fine. You’ve been a fucking asshole lately. Is that clear enough for you?”

Varric continued to laugh, though the comment stung. “Now we’re speaking the same language. And as the empress of tact I’m sure you’ll soften me right up.”

“I’ve always been this way,” Viona leaned even more forward. “But even when your brother first ran off, you were never… I’m worried about you. Can’t you see that we all are?”

Varric groaned. “I’m _fine._ A guy can’t get a little grumpy sometimes?”

“It’s been a month of this. You haven’t even been writing, have you?”

“I’ve been busy. And it’s not like we’ve had adventures worth noting lately.”

“Busy with what? And if you say ‘guild business,’ I will set your hair on fire.”

“I am fucking busy with them. Do you know how much work goes into keeping myself alive, Viona? Do you know how much I’m in charge of?”

“How would I know any of that? You never fucking talk about any of it. Why do you even work with them at all?”

“It’s a family thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Bullshit,” Viona slammed her hand on the table. “I understand family. What I don’t understand is why you’re still hiding all this shit from me, after everything we’ve seen together.”

As he leaned forward quickly, Varric’s voice was a bellow he didn’t know he possessed. “You don’t know me, Hawke! Nobody fucking knows me!”

Viona’s face became stone, unflinching. “And you like it that way?”

He scoffed, trying to pretend his throat was not gripped by emotion’s claws. “There _is_ no other way. Trust me.”

“Trust. A funny concept coming from you, Varric.”

His eyes burned as he looked away from her. “I’ve never betrayed you, Hawke. Not once. I never will. But there are things you don’t know. Things nobody can know. That’s not about trust, it’s about keeping you safe.”

“I’m not defenseless, Varric. Who are you to protect me?”

“Dammit, you don’t know what you’re asking.”

“And you don’t know what you’re losing.” Viona pushed away from the table and stood. “Or maybe you do. Perhaps that’s why you’ve been so testy of late. Perhaps someone is pushing on those walls you hide behind?”

“I’m not hiding,” he growled.

“You’ll have to let someone in eventually.”

“Been there,” he laughed, wishing the bitter taste in his mouth was a real poison, not just the regret that coated his tongue.

“You think you’re so broken,” Viona sighed, sliding her chair back beneath the table. “Powerless. Nobody could ever understand or help Varric Tethras - he is doomed to the fate he’s written for himself.”

“I didn’t write this story,” he spat.

“Maybe it’s time you did, then. Do you think you control me just because you write down the events of my life, Varric? Do you think you decide my fate for me? Do you think you have that power?”

Varric felt dizzy and ill. “Stop it.”

“Do you?”

“No,” he barked, gripping the edge of the table so hard it hurt, an excuse for the tears brimming in his eyes. “I don’t.”

“Who controls my fate, Varric?”

“I’m not like you, Hawke!”

Viona stood beside him and sank to her knees, looking up at him. Her stony face had cracked, and her green eyes were reddened with sadness. Care. It hurt more than her anger ever could.

“You are not the only one with walls, Varric.” She placed her hand on his knee and squeezed, gently. “You are not the only one who has hurt people they loved. Who has failed to protect them. And you’re for damn sure not the only one who keeps people away because they think they can’t survive another loss.”

“You never seemed to have any trouble,” Varric murmured.

“My magic has brought pain to everyone in my life, Varric. Including you. I fought against who and what I am for years, and all it did was hurt more. You can’t control or heal from what you pretend doesn’t exist. Walls protect the weak, they tell us that we will die if we are overwhelmed. Scars protect the strong and remind us what we can _survive_.”

Varric let his hand find Viona’s, linking his fingers through hers. “What if I’m not strong?”

“Hey. Bianca’s pretty heavy, isn’t she?” Viona smiled.

Varric closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “You have no idea.”

“Just think on it. I’ll leave you be, but you know where to find me.”

She squeezed his hand before parting and standing. As she approached the door, Varric opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

“Thank you, Hawke.”

“Any time, dwarf.”

Viona’s hand pulled the door open, revealing an elven messenger boy. She glanced back at Varric, who nodded and wiped at his eyes. “Let him in.”

The human mage passed by the elf and waved him in. The messenger ran to Varric’s table and laid a few letters at his hands, waiting for his tip in return. A few silvers heavier, he left smiling.

Varric thumbed through the letters at his table idly, thankful for the chance to turn his attention away from himself for a moment. Once he got to the the bottom of the pile, however, a stone formed in his gut. A Grey Warden’s seal decorated the back of the envelope, and he knew immediately who it was from.

He wanted to set it aside. He wanted to throw it away. He wanted to burn it and move and change his name.

But more than anything, judging by the way his fingers disobeyed his commands, he wanted to read it.  

His eyes scanned the page, familiar thin writing filling his vision. Something felt different about the letter, but he could not place it at first.

_Varric,_

_I just wanted to check in and see if you were okay? It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. Did you not like the illustrations I sent last? They were supposed to be funny, but I am sorry if they were offensive! Sometimes I don’t know what other people will think is funny._

_If you have more stories I can help with, I’m still willing to do them! But it’s okay if you found someone else to do them or something._

_I hope everything is okay!_

That was when he realized the difference. Rook’s stamp, her image of a signature, was gone. In its place, were thick, blocky, wobbly letters.

 

 

In that moment of silence, a little drunk, a little sad, a little lonely, and a little lost, Varric knew of only one thing he desperately wanted to do.

He pulled out a piece of paper, and he began writing to the girl across the ocean.


	13. Building Bridges

**10 Cloudreach 9:33**

_Chess,_

_I’m alive! Worry not._

_You’re learning the letters, huh? That’s damn impressive. This shit isn’t easy. I better watch my back. Pretty ladies who can draw **and** write will sell me out any time. _

_I’m sorry for my disappearing act. It wasn’t your drawings; I laughed so hard I nearly cried at those. Highlight of my year, really. Happenings around Kirkwall have just been happening a lot more, and I lost sight of my work for a while. Won’t happen again._

_To be honest, I’m not sure how much of this hero business I can take. Not sure how you and Viona do it. I went down into the Deep Roads with my brother to make our fortune, and I guess I thought it might be a chance to…_

 

The quill stilled against the page, and the sudden silence left room for doubt to creep into his head and fingers. Where were these words coming from? It was almost like he was telling her the truth or something.

After a stiff swig of stale ale, Varric continued writing. “First time for everything,” he muttered.

* * *

  **20 Cloudreach 9:33**

Erina cleared her throat before continuing.

 

_I thought it might be a chance to get out of here. Cut some ties that started choking me, you know? Instead, my dear brother steals the biggest treasure in those damn Roads -- freedom. I got gold, but I also inherited all his family responsibilities. Sorry, I mean, ‘connections.’_

_And, after all of that, my informants say they’ve got reports of him trying to make some deals in Kirkwall. Can you believe that? The bastard runs for the hills, leaves me with his mess, and doesn’t even have the decency to stay gone._

_Shit. You can ignore all of that. I’ve just been sitting on this for a while. Haven’t wanted to bother the gang with this until I know for sure what’s going on._

_Anyway, I’m working on a few stories and will send one soon._

_Thanks for checking in, Chess. I guess it’s only fair to ask how things are for you?_

_~VT_

_P. S. Give writing my name a try next time._

* * *

  **30 Cloudreach 9:33**

__

_How was that? I’m getting pretty good, I think.  I even read half your letter by myself! I’m pretty awesome._

_I don’t know what I can say that will help much, but I know what you mean. I had to work for people I didn’t like very much either, back in Orzammar. It seemed like something I’d never be able to get out of, too. I wish you had a big sister like I did. Rica looked after me when mom wasn’t around -- so, all the time. Did I mention that she’s got a son by the King of Orzammar? It’s weird when I remember that._

_Anyway, I get why you wouldn’t want to see him again, but if you can’t stop thinking about him anyway, maybe you should try and find him. You can get a good punch in on him, at least, right? And family… well, it matters. Even when you don’t want it to._

_I don’t know, I just think you deserve to know what’s going on._

_And hey, I’m best friends with an assassin if you need him. He comes pretty highly recommended. Tried to kill me once, even._

  __

_P.S. - Attached is a sketch I’ve been working on. I promise I’m not trying to steal the idea from you -- though the Wardens could use her._

* * *

  **8 Bloomingtide 9:33**

_Chess,_

_I’m going to get you to sign all my letters from now on. That was beautiful._

_I can’t believe you drew Bianca from memory. I’m hanging this over my bed. You got pretty damn close to her specs, too.  I’m sure the Wardens would love to have her, but she’s one of a kind. Besides, darkspawn blood sometimes gums up her works. Shit’s foul._

_On the brother front… I found out where Bartrand is, but things don’t look good. He’s in a rundown estate, and there have been some pretty shady reports from that part of town lately. I haven’t told Hawke or the others yet… I think I’m scared what I’m going to find in there. But I have to make a move soon, or lose the chance._

_You’ve got a royal nephew, huh? I think I’ve got a few of those, too. Kid’s lucky to have an aunt like you. Uncle Varric’s no fun at all._

_Sending you a story about our latest adventure on Sundermount. I don’t know if you know what a ‘varterral’ is, so I’ll try to explain it. It’s a huge-ass five-legged spider made of rocks and pain. It’s got two grabby arms in the front and it spits acid. I trust you can make something terrifying enough to live up to it. And it’s okay if it’s not accurate -- nobody in this town would know what one looks like either. I wish I didn’t._

_~VT_

 

 Rook set her charcoal down and looked up at Erina. “Does this look right?”

Picking up the parchment with her lips set in a thin line, Erina nodded. “Your a’s still look a little blocky.”

“You’re so picky,” Rook whined. “Does it look like a real letter, though?”

Erina smirked and rubbed the short fuzz on Rook’s head. “You nailed it. Let’s get it to the carrier.”

* * *

  **17 Bloomingtide 9:33**

 

 Varric’s wheezing laughter broke the silence of his bedroom, echoing off the walls and wrapping itself back around him. As though summoned by his enjoyment, footsteps approached immediately.

“What’s so funny?” Isabela asked, leaning her head through the door.

Fenris pushed past the pirate, hand hesitating on the doorframe as his eyes fell on Varric. “I thought you were being attacked,” he said, eyes narrowing.

Varric stood and waved them both off with a relaxed sigh. “Nothing so dire, Broody. Just read something funny, that’s all.”

“Mmhm.” Isabela’s eyes twinkled with unasked questions. Varric got nervous.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of La Capitan and her First Mate’s company, anyway? Thought you had fancy wine to keep yourself company.”

“I’m nearly out,” Fenris admitted.

Isabela took long strides into the room and cozily slipped into one of the chairs. “And I come here to play Wicked Grace with the locals.”

Varric snorted. “To cheat them out of their hard-earned coin, more like.”

“Yes,” Isabela cooed. “Their coin earned through slavery and mercenary work. However will I sleep at night?”

“Rumor has it that you have some help with that.”

“The cheating?” Isabela glanced askance at Varric. “I’ve always been a one-woman operation, love.”

“The sleeping.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Varric saw a sudden rigidity take hold of Fenris’s spine.

Isabela did not blink at the allegation, but rather ducked and rolled as a good rogue would. “Varric, if you’re feeling lonely or frustrated, you needn’t hire spies to watch my, ah, comings and goings. We have plenty for you at the Rose.”

“It’s a fine establishment, but the only thing I get there is information.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Fenris muttered, dragging a metal claw along the length of the table.

“I heard that,” Isabela turned in her seat to glare at the lanky elf. “You’ve never even been.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Well, then.” Varric clapped his hands together as though he had an idea, but it was mostly an attempt to silence them before a lovers’ quarrel broke out. “Either of you see Viona today?”

“No,” they both answered quickly. Too quickly. The same rigid lightning struck Fenris again, but it hit Isabela this time as well. Curious.

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m going to go find her. I have… news. About Bartrand. Want to come along? Or will you stay here and, uh, come along?”

Fenris sneered in disgust at his joke, while Isabela cackled and stood. “I suppose I’ve nothing better to do today.”

Varric quirked a brow. “... That doesn’t really answer the question.”

“I’m coming with you.” She looked over her shoulder at the recalcitrant elf. “And you?”

Fenris clenched his hands at his side for a moment before nodding. “If I can be of assistance.”

“Yeah,” Varric sighed, gathering his coat and Bianca. “I have a feeling we’ll need a sword or two.”

 


	14. Hunting Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kirkwall crew are on the hunt for lost family members and lost women in their town. Meanwhile, Rook is grieving the life she used to lead. There are troubling things afoot...

**20 Bloomingtide 9:33**

“Varric,” Viona prompted Varric as she placed a firm, but comforting hand on his shoulder. Her voice felt fuzzy, like he was in a dream. “We need to make a decision.”

Varric glanced around the room, trying to assess whether this was really happening. Viona’s eyes were strangely kind, so that was a point in the “this is a dream” column. But Blondie’s sad puppy eyes were even sadder, and Isabela’s distant, distracted, anywhere-but-here gaze told him all he needed to know. His hands were fists at his side, but where the urge to strike his brother used to live, there was only an aching emptiness in his chest.

The specifics were new, but this situation was too damned familiar to be anything but reality. Bartrand had always been in some kind of trouble, and it was always Varric’s job to fix it. He had always wondered, with idle vindictiveness, what it would look like if he stood back and let Bartrand fall prey to his own greed.

“And here we are,” Varric sighed. With popping knees, he crouched before his kneeling brother. “I don’t know how to help you this time, Bartrand.”

Bartrand clasped his hands together, begging. “Don’t leave me like this. Please. I’m sorry, for whatever I’ve done. But you can’t leave me this way. I can still… feel it, clawing at me. Calling.”

“He’s already fading,” Anders’ murmur to Viona was not as quiet as he assumed.

“Blondie, could you do more for him? Or find someone who could?”

“I… am not sure. Dwarves are not supposed to be susceptible to this kind of… power. It may take some time.”

“Know, Blondie. You have to know. Can you help him?”

Anders fell silent for a long pause, during which Varric suspected an inward conversation was occurring. _Spirit pals. What can’t they do?_

“Yes. I’ll get him the care he needs.”

“Good.” Varric stood, then offered his unclenched hand to his brother. “Stand up, Bartrand. We’re going somewhere safe and… slightly less haunted and terrifying.”

As he guided Bartrand out of the nightmare mansion, Varric heard Viona saying the first kind words to Anders that she had said in weeks.

“Thank you.”

* * *

 

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

Viona stood in the entrance to Varric’s room at the Hanged Man the same evening. He was facing away from her, leaning over his table.

Varric sighed, talking to himself and his new audience. “He’s going to be even more work than he was before. If Anders hadn’t done his wacky blue magic…”

“You would have killed him?”

“I would have. Not out of vengeance, though. He took that from me, too.” He paused before glancing back at the mage. “Would you have let me?”

“I don’t know. I’ve lost enough of my siblings so far, and I can tell you that no matter what fight you had that morning, it would never be enough to make their death easier to swallow.”

A pang of guilt twisted Varric’s stomach. “Shit, Hawke. I’m sorry. I... you don’t talk about her.”

Viona’s lips were a thin line. “Yes. I don’t.”

Varric looked back at the mess of papers and mugs and quills on his table. “When does it fucking stop?”

“I’ll be sure to let you know when I find the slightest clue,” she mused before breaking into a quiet laugh.

The fragile sound broke the tightness he had been holding in his shoulders and neck, and he shared a genuine smile with her. “Thanks. For, well, being there for me. I’m not used to being the one who needs saving.”

“I understand. I don’t much like asking for help, either.”

“Funny, considering how much you begged for Bartrand to let you come on his excursion when we first met.”

She sighed. “That was a disgraceful period of my life, admittedly.”

Varric bent at the waist in an overly cordial bow. “How’s the view from the top of the social ladder, m’lady?”

“Go stuff yourself, dwarf.”

“Love you, too. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like a little breathing room.”

She inclined her head toward him, a gesture of the respect that always underlined her stern and dismissive demeanor toward him. Viona left, taking the small cloud of crackling energy that followed her at times.

As the hair on the back of his neck relaxed, Varric’s fingers instinctively reached for the stack of papers at his working table. Though the pile loomed more than ever, he sought only one article from it. His thumb ran over the wax seal depicting a griffon slowly before he pulled the flap open and began to read. Something about her voice made the air flow easier around him. A private moment all to himself.

* * *

  **2 Justinian 9:33**

_Kadan,_

_You reach to me at an inopportune time. As I recall, you always have. Tensions are rising. The Arishok has been waylaid in the Free Marches, such as they demand to be termed. No man marches freely._

_The Arishok was to return what was stolen from us. We will soon see if he has failed his cause._

_Thank you for the package. I have missed little from Ferelden, but should you wish to stop fighting against your purpose, I await you in Par Vollen._

_Until such a time, I have sent you something as well._

_Panahedan, kadan._

_-Sten of the Beresaad_

Rook was grinning when Erina rolled her eyes away from the page to ask, “You dated this guy? He sounds like an ass.”

“He remembers me!” Rook said, bouncing in her seat.

“So he’s an ass with a good memory?”

“He’s… well, okay, he can be. But you’d just have to meet him. Half the shit he says is just him messing with me.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“What’d he send me?”

Erina tossed the package over, and Rook tore into it with abandon. There were well-preserved samples of foods that Rook had never seen before, but set aside from all of that was a chain. As she withdrew the chain from the box, the weight at the end of it disturbed the other contents and startled her.

“What the-- ooo.” Her words halted when she saw the surprisingly delicate setting and carving on what appeared to be bone, shaped like -

“A tooth?” Erina’s nose scrunched up in distaste. “He sent you a tooth.”

Rook traced the angles etched into the large tooth’s edges. It had been pared down from what it originally was. It was smoothed, bleached, carved. But she knew. She felt its power in her hands.

“It’s a dragon’s tooth,” she said, awed.

“That’s… slightly more impressive.”

“Stop!” Rook’s command was quick and sharp, making Erina stand straighter and lock eyes on her. Rook looked up from the tooth in her hands and frowned at her friend. “This is very important, okay? I know you don’t know much about it, but he means a lot to me and this is part of the culture he comes from. Something he told me about once. I had kinda forgotten because, you know, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen him. But this…”

Erina crossed her arms over her chest. “Is this a proposal?”

“No!” Rook stood and put the box and the necklace aside. “But it means I’m important to him! Am I not allowed to have that?”

“Rook, calm down.”

She didn’t calm down. Tears were burning her eyes, and her hands were fists at her sides. “And what if it was a proposal? Is that so unbelievable?”

Erina’s dark green-brown eyes felt accusatory, judgmental. Rook knew better, somewhere, but there was something crawling under her skin that made her feel too threatened to back down.

The elf woman rolled her shoulders slowly and lowered her arms to her sides. “What is going on with you?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Rook’s voice continued to climb. “Maybe I’m sick of being fucking made fun of all the time.”

“Rook, I--”

“And maybe, maybe I’m tired of being taken for granted and treated like I’ll just always be around! Because I’m, what, reliable? Like no, there’s obviously nothing else I could do with my life, right? And it’s not like there’s anyone out there who’d want me around, so why should I even get excited about the people I used to love? The places I used to think of as home?”

With an uncertain hand, Erina reached down to Rook’s shoulder, but she pushed the arm away with a grunt. “No, I don’t want pity, okay? I just…”

Rook stared up at the ceiling and let her chest go hollow with a heavy, angry sigh. “I feel trapped here, Erina. I’m doing the same damn thing every day, seeing the same people. The only surprises are letters and gifts and visitors here, and most of those are people who want something from me, or just The Wardens. And I just, I held that necklace in my hands and I remembered my life before all this.

“Yeah, I don’t want to be on a death march again. I don’t want the end of the world or anything -- but I mean, I handled it once, so I could probably handle it again, right? But,” Rook sank back into her seat. “I’m bored and… I’m lonely. I’m not even old or anything, and I just feel like, this is all there is for me now. And when I get excited about the one fucking thing that made me feel alive lately, you started to get all mean about it and I just. Snapped. I’m sorry.”

Erina crouched beside Rook’s seat so that their eyes met. “I’m sorry. It’s… I know how I am. And you do, too. But I didn’t know how important this all was to you.”

Rook nodded, wiping at her tears. “I know, Erina. And I love a lot of what I do. Or, I think I love it. I think it matters. But I’m… even back in Orzammar, shit was so hard but at least sometimes it was new and exciting. I haven’t been on an adventure since I got back from Kirkwall. Things are just… work here. And not the fun kind, with swords. This is all politics and contracts and agreements and training for the fun kind with swords, but not actually doing it.”

“And you want to leave it all to me?” Erina smirked.

“Maybe not. Maybe you deserve adventure, too. But I haven’t met a recruit that seems excited for the desk work of the Wardens, yet. They all want to be the next me.”

“But nobody knows what that entails,” Erina finished her thought.

“Yeah.” Rook shrugged. “I didn’t either. I just inherited this stuff. And I’ve done okay at it. But maybe… maybe I should request for a replacement. If Ferelden’s ready for some other kind of person to take over.”

The elf snorted in distaste. “Our king may be a prig, but he’s not afraid of outsiders, at least.”

“Yeah, but the people still are. Getting them to like a dwarf was hard enough. An Orlesian would be a nightmare. And all our contracts might dry up and… ugh, I have a headache.”

Erina reached out and held Rook’s hands in her own slender, slightly cool palms. “Stop worrying about it for now. Let’s get out of here.”

“And go where?”

Glancing both ways, Erina leaned forward and whispered. “I heard of some Darkspawn tunnels. A couple days’ journey from here. I was going to tell you about them today during our strategy meeting, but… maybe it’s something for just the two of us.”

Rook’s mouth broke into a large grin. She hopped out of the chair and nearly knocked Erina over, only keeping her upright by pulling on her arms. “Shit, yes! Let’s go. Let’s go now!”

Laughing, the elf followed after her excited leader.

A moment later, Rook scrambled back into the room and grabbed the dragon tooth necklace from the desk. She slipped it over her neck, blushed a little as she held the tooth with one palm, and then turned and ran back out of the room.

* * *

  **10 Justinian 9:33**

“We help Templars at an astonishing rate,” Isabela observed from behind Viona as they trekked through the dark streets of Kirkwall.

“We’re not helping Templars,” Viona groused. “We’re helping women.”

“Oh, I like that,” Varric chimed in from Viona’s left. “Are you considering running for office on that platform?”

Fenris smirked and breathed a small laugh, but said nothing. He was quiet, her steady right hand. She needed that on nights like this.

Isabela cooed happily and laid a hand on the dip of Viona’s back. “Well, you have _my_ vote.”

Viona reached behind herself to squeeze Isabela’s hand. “My target demographic.”

“Just don’t tell Aveline,” Varric warned as they continued to make their way toward the address Emeric had provided them.

“Tell her what? That I’m running for Viscount? You think she’d revolt against my firm but just leadership?”

“That, and that we just helped the guy she asked us to silence. By, you know, murdering the same blood mage she embarrassed herself trying to arrest last week.”

Viona shrugged. “I trust Emeric more than I would ever trust her attempt to make the City Guard look better. We found plenty of damning evidence at the scene. If her men were even trying…” She sighed and rolled her shoulders to release some tension. “At least Emeric’s trying to do something. And anything I can do to reduce the number of predators on these streets is worthwhile, to be quite honest.”

“Careful,” Fenris added. “You’re starting to sound like a vigilante.”

Viona whined. “Oh, Maker. Don’t let Anders know, please. I can’t handle any more manifestos.”

Fenris snorted and looked skyward in amusement. “Still, the trail ran cold at that maleficar’s house. We only know he was dealing with blood magic, some ‘shipments,’ and demons.” The last word hung with disgust on Fenris’s tongue.

“We all know what those shipments are,” Isabela added, having come around to the other side of Fenris. “I certainly plan to sleep just fine with him shuffled off into an early grave.”

“But where were was he sending them?” Varric asked. “I mean, this whole case has ‘best-selling mystery novel’ written all over it.” Isabela shot him a glare, and he continued. “And of course I want to protect the vulnerable citizens of my fair city while I’m at it.”

Viona dug her heels in as they approached the Gallows to inform Emeric of their success, such as it was. He was gone. A new woman stood at his usual post, and Viona approached cautiously. Certainly her squad was noticeable and unique no matter how hard she tried to blend, but there were always risks when dealing with Templars. She felt Fenris bristle beside her.

“Is Ser Emeric around?”

The woman, whom Viona could only describe as an unfortunate haircut on a cute face, perked up quickly and looked confused. “Are you Viona?” she hissed.

“Yes,” Viona hissed back, irritated by the dramatics. “Who are you?”

Moira continued the hushed tones, apparently unaware of her effect. “I’m Moira. I’m just out of my training, and I work with Emeric sometimes to get the hang of things. He’s just gone to meet you.”

“Pardon?”

Moira fished around and pulled out some crumpled parchment. “You wrote him a note, asking him to meet to discuss your, er, findings. Whatever you’re all on about, it sounds serious. Why aren’t you with him?”

“Good question,” Viona grumbled as she took the folded parchment, squinted at its writing, then passed it to Varric without a second thought.

“Well,” Viona sighed.

“Shit,” Varric finished.

“Trap?” Isabela asked.

“Looks likely,” Fenris grunted.

Viona looked back to Moira. “I didn’t write that. But I think I know who did. We’re going to go get Emeric, if it’s not too late.”

The Templar stared at her, unfortunate bangs hanging in her eyes. “G-good luck!”

“Yeah,” Viona sighed. “We’ll need it.”


	15. Will Endure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook is increasingly restless, and getting reckless. Meanwhile, Varric faces the darkest days he's ever seen.

**15 Justinian 9:33**

Rook winced as she walked up the steps to the Keep, her ankle unhappy after a fall she had taken that evening. That was going to take some explaining, but it had been worth it. Ever since Erina had shown her a small pocket of darkspawn, Rook had taken to scouring the countryside for more. She had been in tunnels that had been long abandoned, in crumbling ruins that reminded her of Ostagar, and she had been in ecstasy the entire time.

Nothing like getting her heart racing while a hurlock swings a sword down near her face, a shriek rises from the ashes of the dead, and a genlock tries to set her feet aflame. The fall had cut it close that night, but it was the most alive she had felt in months. The ache was familiar, as she stepped into the main hall.

Her reflection was interrupted by a flurry of action around her. “Where have you been?!” The voice sounded angry, and an aide was suddenly towering over her from her left. Then there were two, three. She felt her armor being stripped from her, her weapons taken, and she was left alone and over-exposed to the man who ran the Keep in her absence.

Garevel’s youthful face looked wrinkled in the flickering firelight of the main hall, and his arms were crossed over his chest. “Nobody knew where you were, Commander. We had a meeting with some of the--”

“Did something happen while I was gone?” She interrupted him, not interested in hearing how she had failed in her duty.

“Your presence was missed. The nobles and leaders notice when you’re not here. Which has been the case for the past three such meetings. Are your messengers not keeping you informed of your appointments?”

Rook shrugged heavily and tried to pass. “I told someone I was going out. I trust you to handle this stuff. And there are other people who know what’s going on around here.”

“Yes,” Garevel urged, side-stepping to keep her from walking past him, “but you are also the only one with the proper authority to sign contracts and assign our men. I can sign for shipments of arms and armor, but I cannot send the orders for the troops around the perimeters of our citizens’ farms. I can only enforce them.”

He was right, of course, but she didn’t want him to be. She steeled her jaw as she shifted her weight back and forth. “I hate this,” she said after a long silence.

Garevel’s arms relaxed to his sides, and he sighed. “I know, ma’am. But you are the only one who can do it.”

“I want to be fighting. I want to be _doing_ something, Garevel.”

“Leadership can be the most powerful force against an enemy. It can bring its own glory.”

“Glory?” Rook looked up at him, brow furrowed. “I don’t want to sit on some throne and have people bow to me. I don’t want people to carry my banner into war. I don’t want people to die for me. I’m not cut out for this.”

Garevel’s mouth twitched, but she couldn’t tell if it was with irritation or amusement. “The best leaders aren’t. You won the war, Commander. That is why you are here.”

“By fighting in it! By killing the big bad thing at the end of it! I didn’t order anyone around but me and a few other people who wanted to save the world. I get why this job is important, I do. I know why we need to make nice to nobles and kiss the right hands and grease the right palms. I get that someone needs to oversee everything and do the math to make sure everyone gets the right amount of potatoes for dinner, but…”

Garevel chuckled then. “But,” he finished her sentence, “it’s not a battle.”

Rook took a seat at a table. “How do you stand it?”

He rolled his shoulders as he contemplated the question, then sat across from her. “I had little choice, myself. My predecessors were taken in the fateful fight when you first arrived. Still, promotion up the ranks is how you stay in the fight, how you serve. Either you take the opportunity when it arises, or you serve until you die.”

That elicited a grunt. “I don’t like those options.”

“Well, you are the Hero of Ferelden,” his chuckle was quiet. “You’re not exactly one who does things the right way.”

Rook glared at him, but a sad smile was cracking. “Am I failure if I don’t want to do this anymore?”

“You are a hero,” Garevel repeated himself. “I don’t think that could ever change, ma’am. But… they respect you here, and they want you to command them because they want a chance to be you.”

“Nobody out there wants this job,” she snorted.

His face became serious. “They want to be the one who won the war with their own two hands, so they can be the one who gets to remain safe in the walls while others die. Commander, they can’t know the weight of it all. They have only held one sword, never a thousand in one hand.”

“I’m not prepared for this position,” Rook argued. “I won a war by being good in a few fights, by scraping together alliances one at a time, person-to-person. I’m only twenty-one years old, Garevel. Which, sure, is a lifetime in Dust Town, but up here? I meet new recruits older than I am every week.”

Garevel was quiet as he contemplated. When he spoke again, his voice was very still. “I cannot tell you what you want to hear.”

The hairs on her arm stood up. “What do you mean?”

“You want me to tell you that you’re free to go. That you don’t have to serve. That a mistake was made when they chose you to lead the Wardens in Ferelden, despite your service. That youth is a reason that you are not prepared to lead. No, I believe that you serve when you are called. I believe that serving is an honor, and that leadership and governance is a privilege, and a sacrifice that any of us should be willing to make.”

Rook felt heat creeping into her face, a tension gripping at her arms and neck. How could he say that to her? Without knowing the slightest thing about what this means to her? Without knowing how she had to fight to be seen at all, that being promoted to leadership felt like being caged and placed back in the shadows once more? But before she could argue, he continued.

“And… sometimes, the best decision one can make is to put their power in the hands of someone who is more able and prepared to lead. But I cannot tell you that you are free. The responsibility is yours. You risk lives when you pretend to be the woman you once were.” He paused to gesture to the scrapes, bruises, stains she carried in. “You have to be the Warden-Commander for as long as you are. The morale of the Wardens is fragile, and our resources are still limited. You bring life to these halls, to the lives that you touch here. Do not leave them before they can stand without you.”

A chill settled in Rook’s bones, and she felt as though she had swallowed a grindstone. The words were clear, and she could argue with very little of what he had said.

“I won’t abandon my people,” she spoke carefully. “But they deserve a leader who wants to lead.”

“That is your decision to make,” he said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “You lead them now, and you have the good will of the people, should you wish to change course. Just be mindful that you stay alive to see them through any transitions.”

Rook nodded as she drew herself to her feet. A shock of pain traveled through her ankle, and she winced again. “On that note…”

Garevel stood as well. “I’ll call a healer to your room. Be well, Commander.”

She held her hand out to stop him before he rushed off. When he turned to her, he looked younger again. “Thank you, Garevel.”

He smiled. “It is my pleasure to serve.”

As he rushed away, Rook sighed. “What’s wrong with me, then?”

* * *

  **20 Justinian 9:33**

“That was a nightmare,” Viona groaned beside Varric as they approached her home in Hightown.

Fenris, on her other side, grunted. “You did the right thing. Honorable.”

“Yes,” Isabela sounded less agreeable than her words suggested. “I’m certain the Arishok will be very pleased to know what happened to his men. Not likely to try and kill us at all.”

Viona sighed. “I wasn’t the one who tortured them!”

Talks like this could brew over quickly if he chose not to act, so Varric interrupted with as light a tone as he could muster. “It’s getting dark, and I don’t talk Qunari after sundown. Your options are cards, drink, and/or gossip. Maybe coin collecting if you’re feeling ornery.”

Viona’s lips tugged into a small smile, a silent note of gratitude that always made Varric feel like he’d done his job. They came to her door and Viona looked over her shoulder at them all. “I think I’ll turn in, honestly. Too much has... happened this week.”

“Are you all right?” Isabela frowned.

“I feel well enough. I’m just tired, love.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes and gave one slow nod. “You know where we may be found.”

“Of course. I’m sure I’ll be in better spirits tomorrow, ready to face whatever this town wishes to throw at me next. I just can’t see that much death in one day and feel like celebrating.”

“Be well,” the elf answered, his eyes lingering just a moment too long. Both of them broke away at the same time, and Varric saw words behind their eyes as he flicked his glance back and forth. Things were too damn tense in this group, but he didn’t have the nerve to kick the explosive can that night. Aveline still wouldn’t talk to him after his last eruption, though she was also quite busy with her new beau.

The group split in two ways, the three friends leaving Viona to her door as she fumbled with the key.

“Everything all right?” Varric prompted Fenris as they wandered away.

“I’m fine.”

“Silly me, not noticing your disposition is sunny as always. And what about you, La Capitan?”

Isabela made a sound between a sigh and a grunt. “It’s been a long day, Varric.”

“That’s what everyone keeps telling m--”

A commotion behind them made them all stop in their tracks. As Varric turned, he saw Gamlen accosting Viona on her doorstep. That was fairly normal. What wasn’t normal was the way she stood stock still with terror, or the way Bodahn was peering out the door behind Gamlen with something in hand. Isabela and Fenris were already gone back to her side before Varric even glanced over his shoulders.

As Varric neared the rest of them, the smell of old ale and ill repute wafted over him. Kirkwall’s finest cologne.

Gamlen was already nearly shouting. “This morning?! It’s sundown and you haven’t checked on her this entire time?”

“I was attending to--”

“Your own affairs, as always. Listen, Leandra didn’t arrive for our weekly visit. The damn dwarf you have working for you says she stepped out earlier in the day and hasn’t been back. He says she got flowers, even. Honestly. Dating. At her age!”

Varric saw the pulse of panic go through Viona and end in the fists she clenched at her sides. He felt sick.

“Uncle, slow down,” she demanded, her voice strained. “What are you talking about? What flowers?”

The door opened a bit wider behind Gamlen, and Bodahn extended a bouquet to Viona. “These came just after you left this morning, m’lady.”

Varric’s world was a field of white lilies as his friend’s breath hitched in her throat and the flowers scattered violently out of Bodahn’s hands. She didn’t even _move_.

“Who delivered them?” Varric prompted Bodahn, who was as frightened as he should be, given the circumstances. He’d make sure the dwarf understood and got an apology. Later.  

“A delivery boy. I… I didn’t think nothing of it. Miss Leandra seemed pleased by them.”

Gamlen glared at his niece. “She hasn’t spoken to you of seeing someone?”

Viona shook her head, and Varric put his hand on her back, nearly colliding with the other two already there. “No,” she sighed. “I don’t think so. We don’t… speak much. Carver’s just left to train at a nearby post, and she’s been… distant. I thought she was angry with me all over again.”

“A wonder,” Gamlen growled.

“Enough,” Fenris’s growl was louder. “We must find her. We have no time to waste casting blame. Where do we begin?”

“There was no sign of her at that rat Gascard’s house.” Isabela’s thoughts were stormy. “And if he’s gone already, then… where do we even begin?”

Gamlen made a sound of disgust and pushed past the group. “I’m going home to make sure she didn’t get waylaid. Shopping, or something. I don’t know.”

“Uncle,” Viona choked on the word. Gamlen turned, annoyed. “Be careful. This… these flowers are the calling card of a killer.”

“What?” Gamlen hissed, stalking back toward her. “A _killer_?”

Varric stepped in front of Viona and extended his hands to halt Gamlen’s approach. “We’re on the case. Go back home, Gamlen. We’ll find her.”

The older man didn’t look assured, but Varric honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about his feelings right now. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, and he was content to let Viona rest her weight against him. It felt like she would fall otherwise.

“Fine,” Gamlen barked. “Let me know what you find out.” His face softened for a brief moment. “Just… find her.”

When he left, silence weighed on them all.

“Varric,” Viona’s voice was an extinguished fire. “Where do we go?”

He turned to face her, covering her hand with his. “I’ll find the people we need to talk to. You do what you do from there.”

She nodded, and it looked like she was spending all her energy on keeping herself from floating away. Viona never struggled to stay grounded. This was bad. This was really fucking bad.

Not for the first time, Varric wasn’t sure how he was going to help make things right.

* * *

**25 Justinian 9:33**

The weeks following her talk with Garavel had been different. The restlessness that itched at her heart had dwindled, and in its place was a genuine urge to do the best she could, knowing that this did not have to be her life forever. Alongside her meetings and strategizing and, yes, food orders, Rook had also been planning her next adventures.

As Rook’s understanding of the written word increased, so had her awareness of the amount of information that traveled through the Keep and out into the world. Following some interesting leads, she asked for maps of Warden territories, and had begun studying the Wardens’ knowledge of Darkspawn activities and other dark mysteries around Thedas. She had her eye on some outposts that were no longer active, and as her forces expanded, she began sending scouting parties further and further away to report back on the happenings.

Rook was not yet sure what her next mission would be, but she no longer felt like she’d never have one again.

In the midst of all of this, though, letters continued to come and go. Leliana checked in from time to time, with updates from her work with the Chantry. Shale was adventuring with Wynne (oh, Rook wished she had gone with them), and had some interesting stories to share. Sten’s necklace and well-wishes rested against Rook’s chest, a pleasant reminder that her connections remained.

And then there was her friend in the Free Marches. She had decided that week that the next letter to come to her from Varric, she would finally take a stab at reading and responding to by herself. The feedback she received on her lettering and construction had been rather positive of late, and she had taken to writing her responses alongside Erina just to see if she could keep up. A few misspelled words here or there didn’t really seem to matter much. She knew more than she thought she did, it turned out.

So, when the messenger arrived with a letter sealed with a familiar dwarven symbol, Rook felt her heart leap in her chest with excitement and some performance anxiety. The crash soon after was harder than she could have imagined.

 

_Chess,_

_Things are dark in Kirkwall, and I don’t know what to do._

_Viona’s mother, Leandra, is dead. And the circumstances are… too grim to share here. Dark magic. Those responsible are dead, but we all know that doesn’t make it right. It won’t ever be right. There are some things even heroes can’t do._

_I let Viona down. She helped me with Bartrand and kept me from losing it, and…_

_It’s my job to hold the cards in this city. My city. This happened in my city. I don’t know this place like I used to._

_Shit. I don’t want to bog you down with the details of life here. I’m sure there’s plenty else you have to worry about. But._

_Well. I wanted to write._

_I’m normally better at penning these damn things than this. My inner editor took a hike tonight, somewhere between the third and fourth mug of ale. I hope his hangover is worse than mine will be when I’m done. I hate that guy._

_Be safe, Rook. And, well, tell someone important to you that they matter._

_\- VT_

Her experiment had been a success, but her heart ached for it. She put the letter down on her desk, covering a map of the borders and the sea between Ferelden and the Free Marches. Rook was alone in her room, and she was grateful. She wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see her cry like that.

After holding herself on her bed for a few minutes, Rook prepared a fresh sheet of parchment to begin writing. Should she ask for Erina’s help for this? If this were any other message, maybe it would be okay, but…

No. She took a deep, steadying breath and grabbed a quill.

* * *

  **1 Solace 9:33**

_Varric,_

_I’m sorry if this is hard to read. I’m writing on my own._

_Things sound so bad there. You sound like it hurts a lot, and I’m so sorry. I know how bad it feels when you think you hurt your best friend. You wish you could take it back. You want to fix it. But it’s too late sometimes. But it’s not too late for you, Varric. You still have a chance to help Viona, OK? She’s your friend. She needs you._

_You didn’t hurt Viona. I bet she doesn’t want you to blame yourself. I bet she just wants you to be there. You always do the best for your friends. I saw what you do for them. I saw how much you care about them._

_They’re lucky to have you. I hope they tell you that you’re important too._

_If I can help, I will. Anything you need. And let Viona know I’m sorry. But say it better than that, OK?_

_Thank you for writing to me, and letting me know what’s going on. I want to hear the hard stuff, too._

_You can’t face the monsters all alone. You don’t have to._

_\- Rook_

The letter shook in Varric’s hands as his eyes became wet, his vision blurred. He sank like a stone onto his bed and willed the mattress to swallow him up, that those words would be the last things he ever saw.

Would that be so bad?

No, he told himself as he read the letter through again. He couldn’t leave them like this.

Varric’s eyes stared at the letters in front of him, carved into the parchment with a strong, courageous hand. He, too, would be brave.


	16. Correspondence Course 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of letters sent between friends over a couple of months. Some truths, some dodges, and some feelings.

**10 Solace 9:33**

_Chess,_

_Thank you. Your letter meant a lot, and... well, there's a lot more I should probably say but all the words sound like shit for some reason._

_Things still feel really dark here. There's a lot of bad intentions in the air, and I'm running out of ways to stay on top of it all. We've got corrupt Mothers, murdered mothers, and a war with those horned motherfuckers on the docks about to explode at any minute, and it all centers around me and mine._

_Maybe I'm the star of a story after all. I don't think I like it. I like being a narrator. A narrator isn't ever in danger of getting the sharp end of a Qunari spear._

_You know, you actually could do me one favor. Do you know anything about an old Warden outpost around these parts? Specifically up in the Vimmark Mountains? I've gotten some weird reports about stuff going on out there, and it's supposed to be empty. It's probably just looters and some thugs, but if something goes down out there, I don't want to walk into a surprise darkspawn trap. Again._

_I'd say I hope things are boring for you, but that's probably the meanest curse I could lay on you. I just hope they're a little less interesting than they are here._

_\- V_

_P.S.  Your letter was perfectly written._

_P.P.S. Wish I could say the same for mine._

* * *

  **16 Solace 9:33**

_Varric!_

_I learned a lot of words reading your letter! Motherfucker! I mean I knew the word before but now I can write it! motherfucker motherfucker motherfuc-_ [scribble]

_Erina came and took my pen away because I was laughing too much_

_Now I'm back in my room where she cant stop me (motherfucker)_

_Anyway_

_I think you are the star of your own story. I think everyone is! I don't know why you don't want to be. Being a narrator just means talking about the stuff other people do. You’d never get to do anything. But you do things! So I don't get it. Maybe you can tell me more sometime._

_I don't know much about that place you asked about, but I sketched some of the map we have and took some notes. Looks like it was a big place, and we learned some stuff there? I couldn't find any new stuff about it, so I think it must be closed. Let me know if you're going to go exploring!!!_

_I have been bored a little but I started learning more about wardens and what we do. We have stuff all over the place, but a lot of our history is lost when blights happen and a lot of us die. That sucks. But I’m trying to think of things I could do to make it better!_

_I hope things get better out there. Do I need to come fight people? Please say yes._

_Oh! How is Carver???_

_\- ROOK!_

_P.S. motherfucker_

* * *

  **25 Solace 9:33**

_Chess!_

_That is officially the dirtiest letter I have ever gotten. I love it._

_Is Erina reading the letters to you, or is she just stopping you from having a good time?_

_The Wardens have plenty of dusty books that nobody’s reading. You need to write your story sometime, now that you’ve got a quill in your hand. You’re the best thing they’ve taken credit for in a long time._

_As for me… There’s just a lot I can’t share about myself, so I’d make a poor book subject. And when I say can’t, I mean I really can’t. There are people I work for who aren’t happy when I start blabbing too much about my own life. And when they aren’t happy, they make sure I’m not happy. So talking about other people keeps us all happy, see?_

_Though I bet if you think long and hard about why my family lived topside, why I never saw the inside of Orzammar growing up, you can guess which people I’m working for. Rhymes with “curtains build.”_

_It’s not even technically okay for me to associate with anyone who worked with the Carta, but you’re a public figure now, so they can eat me._

_Thanks for the maps and info. I’ll keep it handy in case I hear anything else. Shit, you’re cordially invited to join us if we decide to go spelunking in old Warden territories, though. I’ll keep you in the loop._

_I don’t know if starting a fight between our fine nations would help either of us at this point, but I really wish you could clean up some of this mess. Nobody here listens to reason, but big swords -- those get their attention._

_Junior (Carver) returned for a few days after it all happened. He looks good, Chess. All things considered. The Wardens have been good for him, and the brat probably wouldn’t think to say it, but I know he’s grateful for how you helped him get back up on his feet._

_-Varric!_

_P.S. I could show you so many bad, bad words, kid._

* * *

  **2 August 9:33**

 _Oh!!!!! Oh shit! Okay I get it now. But now I want to know even MORE. Stop being a mis_ [scribble] _mastery_ [marked through] _\-- stop being such a secret!_

_I’m reading stuff by myself! Erina helps if there is a word I haven’t seen before, but I am doing pretty good on my own. I feel like I can get so much more done now! I have a lot to learn but I think I’m doing good._

_I like your idea of me writing my own story, but… I don’t think I’m good enough for that. I like telling stories, but writing them? I just write what I talk. That’s not how books are supposed to be, I think. But… I could draw my story, maybe! Show people how things look from down here, right? I don’t know if people want to see what life was like in Dust Town, though. Maybe I’ll just skip to the part with the dragons._

_If you see Carver tell him he’s WELCOME! but say it like I wanted him to say thank you first. Like you’re being… Sarc_ [scribble] _. You know what I mean._

_Sorry for all the scratches. I know a lot of words in my head but not on paper. You’re a writer guy though! You could tell me! Also the bad words yes please_

_If you’re not too busy, I mean! I don’t want to take your time away! Your bosses can be scary!_

_Wait, how do you have time for all the adventuring and stuff?_

_QUESTIONS_

_\- Roooooooooooook_

* * *

**11 August 9:33**

_I’m not nearly as interesting as you think I am, Chess, I promise. I’m just a rich dwarf who didn’t have to work a day in his life for it, and I owe all of it to an organization my family agreed to work for before I was born. Thanks, Dad. Anyway, I have enough coin to get a lot of stuff handled by other people. As long as I read my letters and go to meetings, they leave me alone. Most of the time._

_With Bartrand… well, you know, a lot more of it became my job for real, but he’d been passing it off to me for a while anyway. Living in the tavern, writing, and traveling with Hawke is just how I pretend to have a life outside it all._

_Shit, that sounds depressing. This is why I don’t talk about myself. You’re sneaky._

_Let’s talk about you! You can write however you want, Chess. If you’re worried about it, I can always offer my very professional advice, but I’m pretty sure everyone would like reading your voice as much as I do. Besides, I know your art will turn heads. Sales are up, by the way. This letter should come with your coin. If it doesn’t, let me know, and I’ll hunt down the messenger and make him apologize._

_You should definitely include the dragons, but don’t skip over the beginnings. That’s what makes a hero, after all._

_I don’t really know how to teach anything, but I can tell you the words you’re not sure about. I think you meant to call me a “mystery” in that last letter, and you wanted me to be “sarcastic” to Carver (you use sarcasm, you be sarcastic). As for bad words… I’ll have to work those in naturally or I’ll just feel like a dirty old man._

_Don’t ever worry about taking up my time. Getting your letters is, well. They make for a good day. But I’m sure Wardening is busy work, too, so I hope I’m not risking another Blight by taking your time, either._

_Be good, Chess._

_-Vaaaaaaaaaaaarric?_

* * *

**20 August 9:33**

_I got the coin! You don’t have to yell at anybody! Boy, that’s a lot. Are you sure this is all for me? Who are you selling these books to? Kings?_

_Speaking of kings!! I’m going to be visiting Orzammar next month. It’s been a while since I made a real trip over there, and I miss Rica and my little nephew Endrin. I’m trying to talk to the king about working with the Legion of the Dead. I hope I get to see Sigrun!!! She joined the Wardens and works down there still. She reads a lot -- I wonder if she’s read your stuff! I’ll share it with her._

_Maybe seeing home will give me the inspiration I need to start my story. I’ll let you know how it goes! Maybe I’ll get you something with all my fancy new coins!_

_Writing is still kind of hard. I want to say a lot, but I don’t know if it comes out right? But I don’t think you’re depressing, Varric. I like hearing more about you, even the boring Guild stuff. Now I know why you seemed so busy all the time. I’m glad you have Hawke and Isabela and everyone, because that sounds like it could be really lonely. What did you do before Hawke showed up? Or is that more mystery?_

_I was just looking back at the old letters and stories you sent me, and I realized it’s been a year since we started working together! That’s so weird, right? A YEAR. I feel old!!!_

_Your letters make me happy to read, and I think a happy commander is a better commander. That’s how I lead, and I saved the world that one time, so I think I know what I’m doing. (I am being sarcastic!)_

_I’m always good! I wish you could see me winking._

_\- Rook_

_P.S. Do you get to use messenger birds? It would be way faster and easier than going through messengers! I guess a bird can’t carry a book, but a letter seems okay. We use them a lot so I figured I’d ask. It’s all good either way!!_

* * *

**30 August 9:33**

_Hey, if the rulers of nations want to read my writing, who am I to stop them? But in all seriousness, I was overdue on paying you your share, so that’s really all for you. Don’t spend it all in one place, or all on me! That’s exactly how you’re not supposed to use it! Just don’t get me a nug. I think we have a few infesting the tavern as it is._

_Orzammar, huh? I hope the family is doing well. You haven’t told me much about them, but I guess that’s only fair. Mysteries go both ways.  But I look forward to reading whatever you come up with. My imagination is good, but something tells me your life is more than I can picture on my own._

_Before Hawke, life was a lot less interesting for a while. But I had my own adventures, a long time ago. That’s where the mysteries have to stay for now, I’m sorry._

_Damn, it sure has been a year, hasn’t it? Time flies when the world is ending._

_And YOU feel old? Shit, I’m… Andraste’s flaming tits, I’m 32. I’ll be a gentleman and not ask how old the Hero of Ferelden is, mostly because I’m scared I really AM a dirty old man._

_I funnel enough money into this place that they better let me have a bird. I can requisition one from the Merchant’s Guild, anyway. It will make them happy -- they might think I’m actually answering my mail. Should be ready to go by the time you get back from Orzammar._

_If I get bird shit on all my stuff, I’m blaming you, though._

_Safe travels, Chess._

_-Varric_

* * *

**7 Kingsway 9:33**

_I was just finishing packing when I got your letter! Awesome!!! We’ll get these birds figured out when I get back, then!_

_Oh, but, I think you should know. I thought you did already. I’m 21!_

Rook paused, putting the top of her quill between her teeth as she weighed the words she wanted to say. What was accomplished by hiding them? At this point?

She glanced to the sketch that hung near her desk, free to be placed there now that she worked alone more often than not. He was still smiling at her, and it still brought a tingle to her nerves.

_Is that a problem, you think? I don’t, but I understand if…_ [scribble]. _I would understand if that's weird._

_I’ll be in touch when I get back, especially if you have more stories I could draw for!_

_\- R_


	17. Oh, Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric POV addressing complicated feelings brought about by the letters, his past, and his present.

**15 Kingsway 9:33**

Things had calmed down in Kirkwall, long enough for Varric and the group to start assessing the damage at least. Sure, there were still tensions brewing everywhere you turned. Templars this, mages that, Qunari over there, Chantry over here -- but nobody’s family members had been attacked or possessed lately, so he was considering it an improvement. The broody elf even had a potential lead on his estranged sister. It was a fragile peace, but he’d take it.

Still, apprehension gnawed at him. Peace was always a portent for something worse.

So he found himself at his table, staring at something worse. No amount of muttering the same swear word seemed to be making the letter in his hand go away. Even worse, half of him was sure he didn’t want it to.

He was currently stuck on which part troubled him the most. That Rook was so much younger than he had originally thought? That she seemed worried he might become uncomfortable and, what, stop writing to her? That someone out there cared about whether he was writing to them?

Someone new, anyway. His gaze flicked to another letter resting on his desk. He had sworn at that one, too. _Those_ letters always came unannounced, slipped into the stack of mail with no fanfare that could endanger the recipient or the sender. The same care had to be given upon reply, or things would get ugly. Again.

Rook’s letters, however, were hand-delivered by smiling agents, who he was starting to recognize. That, too, troubled him. Also troubling? The way their smiles got a little more friendly each time he saw them. What did they think this was, anyway? None of their fucking business, is what.

So much blighted trouble.

Varric put Rook’s letter aside and looked at the other. Bianca never even signed hers. They couldn’t make it personal. But without her name on it, sometimes he wondered if she was even really writing them at all. He recognized her handwriting, though. Neat, precise. She took care with everything she did, took pride in doing things right. Even the painful things.

The thought made him sick. None of this was right. All they had was a letter sent every few months or so, a quick catch-up on their separate lives. In this one, she informed him that she’d finally attended her wedding. Only took her a few years to get there, and judging by the assassins that still occasionally failed to make their way to him, her family still blamed him for her wandering ways. Sometimes he pitied her husband. Most of the time he pitied himself.

Beside each other, the letters painted a stark contrast that made his eyes hurt. Bianca’s letters were refined, careful. It wasn’t like she was afraid of speaking her mind, but things had to be circumscribed between them. Varric remembered her as someone who had so much life in her, this was just a poor proxy to it. Just as well, since no matter how much adventure he got up to on his own, he couldn’t read her letters without returning to the time they had been forced apart. Every one was a trip down memory lane, reminding him that he was still the man who had cowered, the man who had failed to live. The Guild kept them separated, but he was the one who had stopped moving. She kept going.

Then there were Rook’s letters. The penmanship was raw, and the words were honest. She even left the marks where she had to stop and catch herself from revealing too much -- it was a new thing for her. He saw it. He didn’t want to see it. Still, hearing the remnants of her voice in his mind as he read took him somewhere new entirely. His life wasn’t just a series of cowardly retreats in her eyes.

_Of course not. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about me._

Varric reflected on the letters they had shared, and he wondered if that was actually true. He wasn’t sure if Bianca knew him at this point, either. It had been, what, seven, eight years?  Can people change in that time? Could he change at all? Who in the void was he?

Varric groaned at his own philosophizing and turned Bianca’s letter over on the desk. That left Rook’s.

“Twenty-one,” he muttered aloud. “Shit.”

His memories flooded with the feeling of her lips on his, and his eyes shut as he held his head in his hands. “She was _twenty_ ,” he said, louder. “You fucking _idiot._ ”

He met Bianca when he was twenty-two. _And look how that turned out. Hope Rook’s husband appreciates the damage I do._

Varric straightened himself out, trying to erase the mental images that were taunting him. He studied her letter again, sighing. Did she really not care? Care about _what_? What was there to care about? People of different ages can be friends, right?

As his hands balled into fists that he ground into his thighs, he tried to breathe. “Right. Friends.” As though that line was going to work for much longer.

Maybe he needed a friend.

* * *

 

Hawke’s estate was always bigger than Varric imagined it, every time he got there. He wondered if magic was involved, though she would probably recoil at the suggestion. When that happened, he always tried to tell Viona that he was a simple dwarf who didn’t understand magic, but he mostly liked seeing her get a little mad. Just a little.

Today was no day for irritating her, though.

“Varric?” Viona was startled when she opened the door. “You never leave the Hanged Man.”

“And you’re never home. Weird day, huh?”

“Apparently.” She stepped out of the way. “Please, come in.”

He nodded to Bodahn and his creepy kid as he entered, wiping his boots on the mat at the door. “You busy, Hawke?”

“I was just doing some reading. Sorting through some things. Nothing important. What’s brought you all the way to the dreaded Hightown? I hope the nobles haven’t made it too clean for you.” Her tone was sharp, but playful. That was good.

This was still hard, though. Varric took a deep breath, then deflated. “I… need advice.”

Her green eyes pierced him, and her lips flattened into a line for a studious moment. “I’ll make some tea.”

“I don’t really want tea, Hawke.”

“Wine?”

“No.”

“Maker, Varric, I don’t keep Hanged Man’s ale in the house. The neighbors complain about the smell.”

“I don’t need a drink right now!” he flailed. “I just want to talk about something.”

Viona’s stare became icy, then concerned. She waved for him to follow, taking him to the sitting room. She closed the door behind them both, and followed him to the chairs by the fire.

“This is strange, Varric,” she said, taking a seat.

“I know.”

“Are you feeling well?”

“No.”

“Are you ill?”

“Maybe.”

“Andraste’s sake, dwarf. Out with it.”

“I just have some things I need to talk to you about, but if you ask me questions, I might not be able to answer them."

Viona crossed one leg over the other and continued to stare him down. “Go on.”

“I… Shit. I need relationship advice.”

Her look of disbelief hurt more than if she had laughed at him. “You what?”

“Dammit, Viona.” His face felt warm. Fucking fireplace. “I knew this was a mistake.” He got one foot on the ground before she snapped her fingers at him.

“Sit down, Varric. You came here for a reason, and you’re not going to run away.”

He settled back into his seat, scowling. “This is stupid.”

“You’ve never sought advice from me, and you choose to ask about this? Need I remind you that I am currently lost in the void with both Fenris and Isabela?”

Varric grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest. “At least you haven’t been talking to both your married ex who left you eight years ago and a fucking twenty-one year old.”

That time she laughed. He couldn’t even blame her. He just let the fire soak up his glare.

“Please,” she begged, “before I can’t breathe, explain what you’re talking about. I’ll listen, I promise.”

“I can’t explain much about the first thing. Trust me that it was… messy. And my fault. And I’d go back and fix it if I could, or… maybe I wouldn’t. I don’t even know. I was scared back then. I’m still scared now. This is the shit I don’t do, Hawke.”

“Talk about yourself?”

“Deal with things,” he corrected her. “I talk plenty.”

“And the… other person?”

He tried to scowl more, but his forehead was tired. “You know who it is, Viona.”

“Wait. The Warden?”

Varric only grunted.

“Oh for -- You made it sound like you were talking to a child.”

“Aren’t I?”

“She’s the bloody Hero of Ferelden. I knew she was younger than us, but if they let her choose kings and slay archdemons and command the Wardens of an entire country, I imagine she’s probably a big enough adult to decide who she wants to talk to. Besides, you know she must have plenty of options.”

For some reason, the thought made his gut twist.

“Fine. Maybe I concede your point. I’ve been talking to her for a year, through letters. It was business. I sent her stories, she sent me drawings.”

“Very professional,” Viona agreed, keeping her eyes focused on him.

“Except the last few months. Since… Bartrand, and-- well, everything. I haven’t been in the writing mood, and I’ve just been talking to her. And maybe she’s getting the wrong idea.”

“Mm. What idea might that be?”

Varric felt like his face was in the fire. He wished it was.

“I’m not good at this,” he strained. “I don’t _feel_ this. I’m not supposed to. It’s been nearly a decade since the last time, and that one damn near broke me. And I don’t fucking know her, not really.”

“But you want to.”

“Even then, she doesn’t know me.”

“But you want her to.”

“She can’t. Shouldn’t. I don’t know.”

“Varric, what do you want from me? Do you want me to encourage you to go after this girl, or tell you to give up?”

“I want you to put me out of my misery.”

Viona laughed softly. “Welcome to love.”

He sank deeper into the already-oversized seat. Humans never thought about anyone but themselves.

“I kissed her,” he whispered, and it felt like releasing his soul into the air.

She sat up straighter. “When did you manage that?”

“The night she was leaving. The last time I saw her. She made me so-- I felt like I was consumed with her, just being around her. I wanted to get her out of my system. I wanted to…” he trailed off, willing that disaster out of his thoughts again.

“What happened?”

He sighed. “She kissed back, and then she stopped it. She told me she didn’t know enough about me -- Like she wanted to learn more? Like this could happen again? And like an idiot, I offered to keep working with her. I was supposed to put a stop to it right then, and instead I guaranteed she’d wriggle deeper into me.”

“How horrible,” Viona deadpanned.

“I can’t do this!” Varric drew himself back up in his seat.

“I don’t even know what ‘this’ is!” She replied, annoyed. “What do you _want_ , Varric?”

The question ached. He never paid attention to what he wanted, how could he? The last time he tried, it nearly got everyone he cared about killed. The only way to stop it was to turn it off, stop trying to reach beyond the life he was given. But what do you do when someone is reaching in at you? When they don’t seem to notice all the walls you’ve very carefully constructed to stop exactly that behavior? The walls that kept him from being able to see what he was missing.

The truth was too simple. “I _want_ to know her.”

“Are you willing to risk her knowing you?”

He sighed. “Maybe.” It might kill him, but better a life attempted, right?

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Gee, I don’t know. How’s it going with you?”

Viona’s scowl was so much worse than his; he shivered as she spoke. “I’m choosing to ignore that, in order to be a courteous host. What of this ex you mentioned?”

Varric made a noncommittal gesture in the air. _Just like every other gesture you’ve made._

“She’s married, lives half a world away from me, and I can’t talk about her or see her. We write letters, too.”

“Do you still see her?”

“It’s happened. Not often. Not recently.”

“Do you want to?”

He shrugged heavily. “It’s something I’ve never been able to put behind me. Probably because it’s just so much fun blaming myself for every damn thing that goes wrong in my life.”

Viona leaned forward and placed one hand on his knee. The gesture hurt, but it was a good hurt. A hurt he probably needed to feel.

He looked down. “I want to have not fucked it all up, and keeping her in my life lets me pick that scab over and over. Keep it alive, even if it’s still broken.”

“If she cares for you, I hope she wouldn’t want that for you.”

“She did care. I think she still does, but. I think we both like blaming me.”

Hawke grimaced. “That’s healthy.”

“Ain’t it just.”

“I had no idea,” Viona said quietly. “How hard was this to talk about?”

“I’m dying inside,” he answered flatly, but he offered her a small smirk. “This much truth makes me feel like I just hiked up a mountain.”

“Did it help?”

He breathed slowly. “Things are clearer from up here, yeah. Thanks.”

“I didn’t _do_ anything, Varric.”

He covered the hand on his knee with his own. “I don’t say this much genuine shit in one day, so I better get it out now. You’ve changed my life, Hawke. For the better. I know things have been fucking terrible, but, just, thank you. For being here.”

The mage tilted her head. It took her a moment to process genuine feelings, too. It’s part of why they got along so well. She smiled eventually, but there was a little pain in her eyes.

“A lot has gone wrong, Varric. But you’ve always been at my side, just above my waist, trying to make things better. And that’s been the difference, too many times to count.”

“Really. A short joke.”

“I love you, dwarf.” She squeezed his hand.

He returned it. “I love you, too.”

“So what are you going to do?”

Varric slid off his chair. “I’m going to see a man about a bird.”

“...what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he laughed. “It makes perfect sense to me and Rook.”

Viona rolled her eyes. “Oh, Maker. You’re already disgusting. I take this all back. Don’t talk to her.”

Varric kept chuckling and shook his head. “Too late, Hawke. You’ve doomed us all.”

At the door, Viona paused to squeeze his shoulder. Her touch was warm, even through the coat he wore. “I don’t know everything you put up with, Varric. But I hope things get better for you.”

“I think they can. I just have to try to stop hiding.”

“I’m glad you came to me.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, smiling. “Yeah. Me too. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some letters to write.”

“Oh, by all means.”

She waved him out the door, where the world greeted him once again. It was brighter than he remembered. Maybe there was a metaphor in there, somewhere.


	18. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rook visits Orzammar and catches up with her sister, getting some guidance and comfort she's needed, and steeling herself to make some hard decisions. If someone else doesn't make them first...

**18 Kingsway 9:33**

Rook woke up snuggled next to her sister, in warmth and happiness and comfort. This was nothing like the cold, lonely nights she had spent in Vigil’s Keep. Even with all the blankets and a fire in her fireplace, the Keep was never going to feel as warm and homey as when she was surrounded by her family.

All the lava probably helped, too.

Baby Endrin was tucked in a few paces away from the bed, starting to stir and get a little fussy in his bassinet. He knew a few words, but when he was tired and hungry, it was still mostly time to cry. Rook sympathized.

Rica woke to his little whines, but Rook stayed securely attached to her waist.

“Morning,” Rook yawned lazily.

“Hey you,” Rica’s voice was a song that she had missed so deeply. “I think I have to tend to my little princeling.”

“No,” Rook answered teasingly, squeezing her around the middle. The time they had been apart had been kind to Rica, allowing her to grow into the rounded softness she always deserved to have. Being fed and cared for used to be a luxury, and though they didn’t speak much of their past, neither of them took it for granted.

She released her sister after she got her to giggle, and watched as Rica went to her son’s side.

“What’s it like?” Rook asked, hugging her knees and enjoying the feel of the soft silken nightgowns the royal companions were allowed.

“Which part?” Rica asked before she cooed at Endrin.

“Shit,” Rook muttered. “All of it? You’re a mom now. And you’re getting married?”

Her sister turned back to her, surprise in her brown eyes. “That’s not decided yet. I’m still just one of the girls--”

“The first girl who’s given him a son, and his favorite. You know it’s true.”

“It’s not that simple,” Rica sighed, pulling Endrin into her arms just in time for her help to enter the room. Rica asked for breakfast for three to be prepared, and indicated the little prince needed to be changed. The girls nodded happily, took the child, and began their work.

The servants looked happy, but it was still weird to see her sister giving orders. As one turned away, Rook caught sight of a brand on her cheek.

“Are those--?”

“Casteless? Yes.” Rica glowed with pride. “Bhelen has done so much in so little. People hate him for it, but he employs them, validates them.”

“ _Us_ ,” Rook answered instinctively, feeling uncomfortable.

Her sister frowned. “Technically--”

Rook didn’t let her finish. “No, it’s good. I’m happy. Someone needs to be doing something, and I’m glad he is. I just don’t feel good acting like I’m any different from them.”

“Hon, there’s a giant statue of you out in the entry hall.”

“I didn’t ask for it!”

Rica giggled and reached down to rub Rook’s fuzzy head. “I know. I did.”

Leaning into the touch took Rook back to her happy place. “So, what about the rest of it? How’s being a mom?”

“I don’t know how anyone does it alone,” Rica confessed as she sat by Rook. “It’s terrifying, and exhausting, and I have girls who help me when I’m overwhelmed or entertaining guests.”

“Yikes.”

“But it’s so rewarding, Rook. He took his first steps a few days before you arrived. Can you imagine? Watching this new life figure out how to do things. Knowing that you’re helping him find his way? I mean, I helped you a lot when you were little, but… this is so beyond anything I was ever really picturing.”

Rook smiled. “That sounds amazing.”

“It is.” Rica stood again and started dressing. Behind the folding curtain, she called out, “And what of you? What happened with the boys you were with when you last visited? In the middle of all the warring?”

“Oh, you know.” She stood and picked out her own clothes, tugging on ornate clothing that looked a little too noble for her tastes. “It didn’t work out. Sten had to go home, and Zevran and I are still friends, but it… wasn’t the right time for us. He’s dating my friend, Erina, now.”

Rica made a sympathetic sound. “Anyone else in the picture?”

“Sis…”

“I’m just curious!”

“I don’t know,” Rook dragged the last syllable out as she flopped back onto the bed. “There’s, like. A thing happening. I don’t know if it means anything, though.”

Rica stepped out from the curtain, a dazzle of pretty colors and sparkling gems. Nothing overwhelming, but she was absolutely a noble. Rook was adjusting, slowly.

“Talk to me,” Rica ordered in her kindest, most sisterly voice.

Rook sat herself upright and sighed heavily. “I visited the Free Marches on some Warden business a year ago. While I was there, I met this guy. A dwarf guy.”

“Oh, my. Cute?”

“For a surfacer with no beard? Extremely.”

“Exotic!” Rica snickered.

“I know! He, uh. He’s connected up there. His family was nobility before they got exiled from Orzammar, but he was born above ground, never even saw Orz.”

“Oh? What’s his name?”

“Varric. Varric Tethras.”

Rica’s eyes widened. “From the House of Paragon Tethras?”

“I don’t know if he’d even think that’s a compliment,” Rook laughed.

“Disrespect for the Ancestors. No wonder you like him.” Her sister nudged her with an elbow. “How did he treat you?”

“Ugh, sis, he’s so funny. And smart. And he showed me around town like he owned the place, but like he wanted me to love it as much as he did. And he listened to me, you know? No guy down here ever saw me the way he does. Like, you know, a person. A lady person. Even when I’m all beaten up from a fight.”

“You got into fights?” Rica frowned.

“Pft.” Rook waved away her concern. “I can handle myself.”

“As always. What happened, then?”

“Well, I was there for about a week, and he was sort of around a lot. We talked a lot, and there was some flirting, some kinda… something. And then he found out I was leaving, and it changed. He came to my room, all serious and husky, and was all,” Rook affected a deep voice, “‘I forgot to do something’. Then he kissed me!”

“Well!” Rica grinned at Rook’s enthusiasm. “And?”

“...and it was _amazing_. But…”

“But?!”

“I couldn’t! I mean. He spent so much time listening to me and talking about his town and his friends and… I didn’t really know him, you know? And… I didn’t want to leave on that note.”

“Oh, Rook.” Rica’s warm fingers were gently petting her head again, and it made Rook sigh.

“I know, I know. We’ve kept talking, though! First I was helping him illustrate the books he writes-- He writes books did I forget to mention that? He tells all these wonderful stories, and I’ve gotten to help draw them! My pictures are being sold to real people! And then we’ve been talking through letters. Ah, I’ve learned how to write, Rica! I’m really good at it, and I’m just getting better the more I do it! So it’s like… he’s part of all this new stuff in my life, and I like him, and I want to kiss him again and this is horrible!”

Rook stopped talking when she ran out of air, deflating back into laying on the bed again.

“By the Stone, Rook. Breathe so I can try to catch up.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she panted. “There’s just a lot going on.”

“He lives in the Free Marches? That’s across the sea from where you are, right?”

“Yeah. Kirkwall, actually. But it’s not nearly as far for us as it would be from here, you know?”

“Right.” Rica hummed quietly as she thought. “So what, exactly, is happening right now?”

“Well, a lot of shit’s been going wrong in Kirkwall, so we’ve talked about that. And he just told me a little bit about his family and himself, and that he’s in his thirties. And he apparently didn’t know how old I am, so I sent a letter to him letting him know. And I asked him if there’s a problem with me being younger than him.”

“You’re really interested in this man, aren’t you?”

Rook rolled onto her side and looked up at her sister. “It’s not even like, possible, right?”

Rica smiled warmly, cupping Rook’s chin in a soft palm. “You’re talking to a branded woman who became the consort of the King, hon. I’m not sure anything’s impossible. But tell me more about why you like him!”

“He’s handsome, and smart, and he takes time out of his day to talk to me, and he’s told me stuff that I don’t think he shares with anyone. And he compliments me, all the time. Says he likes hearing from me. He’s called me pretty, Rica. You know how many people do that?”

Rica’s eyes were dewy, and she kissed Rook’s forehead gently. “Not nearly enough.”

“And he’s a fucking great kisser,” Rook sighed dreamily.

“Language,” Rica tutted before giggling.

“Sorry, Your Grace.”

“That’s much better. So, what do you think’s going to happen?”

“Well, I think my age might freak him out. I also don’t know if he’s actually interested in the first place, even if that doesn’t scare him off. I want… I want to keep talking to him. I want to see him again. I want… I want a romance,” she sighed.

“You deserve to be wooed,” Rica agreed. “I hope he sees that. And it sounds like _such_ an amazing story.”

“I think he’s got stuff, though. Stuff that complicates all of this. And I don’t know if it’s worth it for me to hold my hopes out, you know? It’s been a year. If he was going to act…”

“From what I see, you’ve given him a chance with your last letter. He can keep going, or he can back out. It’s up to him now, isn’t it?”

“I guess so? I don’t know. Maybe I haven’t been clear enough. I don’t want to screw this all up, you know?”

Rica sighed. “I know. I think you should go for it, if it’s what you want to go for. Nothing’s ever stopped you before, my little battering ram. But if you’re going to be brave enough to charge ahead, I think you have to risk it not working out.”

“Ugh,” Rook groaned. “I hate that. Guarantees, please.”

Her older sister giggled. “Please. You’d be so bored.”

“Maybe. You put up with so much to get where you are, so I can at least be as brave as you, right?”

Rica bit her lip, a sign that she was trying not to cry. Rook always loved and hated getting that look from her. “Oh, Rook. Come here.”

Without warning, Rook was squeezed in the tightest of hugs, the kind only Rica could give. It felt like home.

“I love you, sis,” Rook sighed. “I think I can do this. I’ve got lots going for me, right? Who cares if some dude doesn’t like me?”

“Exactly,” Rica agreed, releasing her. “But you’ve taken the whole world by storm. I bet you can take him, too.”

Rook stared at her, heat filling her cheeks. “Rica!”

The door burst open with the attentions of serving girls before Rica could absolve herself of any intended naughtiness, but her older sister’s wink told Rook everything she needed to know. There would be time to worry about such things later. This was the only time she would have with her family, and she wasn’t going to let it be interfered with anymore.

She’d go for what she wanted, but she wouldn’t let it take any more from her than she was willing to give. She just hoped Varric knew she was willing to give quite a bit.

* * *

**3 Harvestmere 9:33**

The trip back to the Keep was much more exhausting than the trip there, even though she had traveled lightly, choosing not to take her closer companions for the ride. Zevran had seen Orzammar once before, not at its best, and she didn’t want to relive those moments. Plus, time with her sister and little Endrin was so rare. Rica traveled above ground as ambassador once before, but Bhelen was more protective of her now that things were serious.

Before she left, she made Rica promise to write to her. Rica had taken some lessons when they were younger, because a noble hunter needed to have the right skills to woo themselves a catch, but Rook was pointed toward the grunt work at an early age. She tried not to take it too personally. Rica’s education was limited, anyway, as Beraht knew less than he let on. Still, with Rica’s new position came new access, and she was learning again. It warmed Rook’s heart to know they’d never be too far apart again.

Their mother was there, too, of course. Rook had scheduled herself with lots of meetings to try and avoid spending too much time with her. Rica reported that Kalah was mostly sober, and Rook was happy for her, but… there was nothing they had to talk about, really. Not after everything. Rica was her rock. Kalah was… complicated, and Rook had enough of that going on.

As they traveled, Rook devised a plan for when she got back. She’d worked on something for Varric while in Orzammar, and she wanted to send it to him, wanted to include it with a letter that made her intentions clearer. It wasn’t a proposal or anything weird. Just… time to be honest. And since she had promised to be in touch when she got back, she figured the first step had to be hers.

They arrived at Vigil’s Keep after nightfall, and once she had helped unload some of the supplies, she bid everyone goodnight and crawled herself up to her quarters. It was getting chilly out, and her fireplace was dark. She whined a little, but got to work. After the fireplace was lit, she wanted to plan out her next letter.

As she fiddled around for some wood to throw in the place, a knock came at the door.

“Yeah?” She called over her shoulder, hoping it wasn’t a crisis. “Come in.”

“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, ma’am. A bird came for you,” one of the Warden’s agents reported as the door opened and she shuffled inside. “From… The Hanged Man? I didn’t break the seal, but… it sounded very suspicious, and we decided you should know as soon as you returned.”

Rook stared at the flint and tinder in her hands as they created a spark that took to the fireplace, warmth and light filling the room in what felt like an instant. The tools fell from her palms and she rushed to the messenger, taking the rolled paper from her hands.

“It’s not a threat,” she said quickly. “It’s from a friend. But I need you to go now. Okay? Take good care of the bird until I reply!”

The human blinked at her. “Yes. Of course. But…”

“It’s the name of a tavern. You’d have to be from Kirkwall to get it, I think.”

“I… Understood. I’ll just leave you to it, ma’am.”

“Thanks!” Rook shooed her out, but tried to smile.

Her hands were shaking as she broke the seal of the letter. She sank down by the fireplace, too focused to bother lighting a candle. Her plans were already falling apart, and she didn’t really care.

_Chess,_

_Forgive the short letter. I’m trying this bird thing out, and I can’t send all my secrets with something that might get shot down or lost on the way there. And I want this to reach you before you get back. Shifty, I know._

_I just wanted you to know: It’s not a problem for me, if it’s not a problem for you. I’d miss your words on my desk, and I just invested in this... animal, so if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep talking._

_I’m not very good at a lot of this, you might have noticed.  I’d like to get better, though. You make me want to._

_Well, I better get this in the air._

_\- Varric_

_P.S. Please don’t name the bird until he’s made it back a few times. I can’t get invested in something if it’s just going to fall out of the sky._

Rook held the paper to her chest and let herself lean back against the stone of the hearth, legs squirming in front of her in excitement.

Plans were overrated, anyway.

 


	19. Something Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for the truth to come out, but how much can each of them handle? And what happens when the tensions in Kirkwall rise yet again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Thedosian Calendar](http://dragonage.wikia.com/wiki/Calendar)

**8 Harvestmere 9:33**

_Varric!!!!_

_I got your letter and your bird, and he’s doing fine! I will try not to name him but that seems hard. He’s really cute!_

_I’m really happy you want to keep talking. I thought about it a lot while I was traveling, and I was going to tell you I wanted to keep talking, too. You beat me to it!_

_I don’t think you are really that bad, Varric. I know there’s things you don’t want to talk about, or can’t maybe. But I hope you can trust me. I will try to show you that you can._

_Maybe you don’t remember, but my first night in Kirkwall we talked about our stories. I wanted to trade and you said you couldn’t. Well, I started working on my story, like you said I should, and I want to share it with you. But…_

_If I show you, I want to know that you’ll show me, too. I really hope you will._

_\- Rook_

* * *

**11 Harvestmere 9:33**

_Chess,_

_It’s not exactly about trust. It’s… like if you went eight years without picking up your sword, it’d be hard to swing it again right? Shit, wait. Forget the sword metaphor. I’m just out of practice in a lot of ways._

_For what it’s worth, I want to. With the birds, and with… everything, I think it’s safer. But you have to understand there are people watching me. Still, I don’t even know how much I’m hiding because I have to, or just because it’s safer for me to… not deal with it all._

_Diving in isn’t my strong suit, but, well. You know I want to hear more about you, so a trade’s a trade, right? How about you ask me something, and if you like my answer, you send me whatever parts of your story you want me to see. I might not be able to answer, but… shit, I promise not to lie._

_Experience tells me it wouldn’t work on you, anyway._

_\- Varric_

_P.S. Don’t worry, Chess. I remember that night, and the others._

* * *

**14 Harvestmere 9:33**

_Varric,_

_Eight years? What happened eight years ago? I mean, that’s probably a big question so maybe I should save that for later since I haven’t written everything about me yet. Ok ok I’ll wait on that one._

_Um um um um_

_Tell me about your family! That’s where my story starts, so how about yours? Also how’s your brother doing? I hope that doesn’t count as two questions. I’m breaking the rules already!!!_

_Also you’ll have to wait for my responses after you share because I’m going to be sending my drawings and writing the long way!_

_~Rook_

_P.S. Those were good nights, weren’t they?_

* * *

**20 Harvestmere 9:33**

_I’m going to move past the ‘eight years’ question for now… we’ll get to it. I think. I’ll try. Starting at the beginning seems safer, and Maker knows there’s enough of that to go around._

_So, family. Right. Here we go._

_I’m the younger brother, eight years younger than Bartrand. My family, House Tethras, was a noble caste until my father fucked everything up. I never knew the guy, not really. He got caught messing with the Provings to make a quick sovereign, and King Endrin tossed my family out on the surface in 8:98. Blessed Age my ass._

_Bartrand was five when it happened, so he likes to think he remembers Orzammar enough to honor its ways, and it’s annoying. Me, I was born up here. My father died when I was two, and my mother… She didn’t handle it well. She took to drinking after he died, and Bartrand and I had to fend for ourselves while the Guild was breathing down our necks. Without the Guild rescuing the House after the exile, we would have been shit out of luck, but they don’t do anything for free, and they don’t give a damn if the only adult isn’t sober enough to run their jobs._

_So Bartrand ran the House, and I looked after Mother, as much as I could. She was good to us, when she could be. I don’t talk about her much. Watching your mom die of a disease the drink brought on is… nothing I’d wish on anyone. She liked my stories, so at least I could give her something as she went. I was twenty when that finally happened. Bartrand wasn’t even there._

_He’s… getting better, by the way. Since you asked, you rule-breaker you. He’s in a Chantry home for people with all kinds of problems, mostly of a mystical nature. I visit him once a week, give him some work to do, tell him some Guild news and how the House is doing. He doesn’t trust me in charge of things, but he never did, even before the red lyrium fucked him up. Anders is working with him. Or, well, Anders and the spirit in Anders, at least. I don’t know. It took something from him, and there already wasn’t a whole lot I liked about my brother._

_Andraste’s ass, Chess. How do you get this shit out of me?_

_So there you have it. That’s my origin. I told you it’d make a terrible story, right? I feel like it has to be the most trite, boring shit you’ve ever heard. The whinings of a rich surface dwarf. But… it’s the truth, and that’s something._

_\- V_

_P.S. Those were amazing nights, but I think these are better. At least this time I’m making an ass of myself with your permission._

* * *

**29 Harvestmere 9:33**

_It’s not boring!! Don’t talk so mean about yourself!!!_

_I wish I knew how to write better! I want to tell you how reading your story made me feel. But I don’t know how to hug people through letters. I’m sorry about your mother, Varric._

_I sent you some pictures I drew, and I wrote short things about each one. The words probably aren’t very good, but… I just wanted to try. But I’m excited to tell you more, because we actually share a few things._

_So my stuff! I’m a younger kid too! My sister is 5 years older than me. I’ve talked about her a little bit - Rica. I didn’t know my dad either. I don’t even know who he is, though. I don’t even know who our family is, really. My father is different than Rica’s, but it doesn’t matter. Our mom is casteless, so we all are. I mean I guess I’m a Paragon now and Warrior caste. But I don’t even live there anymore so TOO LATE CHUMPS_

_Anyway. My mom tried to have a boy because that’s what you do when you’re a casteless mom. She had two girls instead, and since we fucked up by being born, it was our job to try and lift our family up. She drank too. A lot. She never really liked me drawing or telling stories, but I did it anyway. It made me happy, even if I couldn’t make her happy._

_Rica and I had to help pay back some of the debts my mom had, too. With the Carta! Rica was older and pretty, so she was picked to hunt the nobles and try to have a baby with one of them. I was tough, so I got picked to beat people up and get money and stuff from people. We both had to do lots of things to get by, even with the Carta’s help, and we had to make sure mom was fed._

_It was shitty. Most people like me don’t end up a hero. But we got lucky, I guess. Shit, Rica ended up having a kid with the King. Or he got made King after she got pregnant. Okay I guess I made him King. Whatever, I got lucky and I made sure my sister was okay too. And my little nephew is the cutest!!!!! sorry you probably don’t care so much about that BUT HE IS_

_I love Rica so much. She took care of me growing up, and I protected her as much as I could when we were in Dust Town. I don’t really talk to mom much, but she’s living in a nice place and she’s fed. I think she finally feels like we stopped failing her, and she doesn’t drink as much now. I don’t know what’s going to happen with her. I just try not to think much about it._

_I’m glad Bartrand is being taken care of. It sounds like you’re doing all the stuff you can do to help! I think I get why it’s hard to figure out how to be with him, though. Because he’s kind of been a bad brother, but he’s family, right? And you were the one who had to care about your family._

_I think you’ve done a good job!_

_Umm. Do you want to ask me something? Maybe that’s more fair than me just grilling you._

_~R_

_P.S. I remember telling you to go ahead that night, if we’re thinking of the same one. And you weren’t an ass, back then or right now. Is that what you think? Really?_

* * *

**2 Firstfall 9:33**

_I had no clue you would know exactly what I’m talking about on some of this shit. It doesn’t seem like that should be possible, since we grew up on opposite sides of the sky. You always surprise me, and you’d think I’d be used to it by now. Don’t know if I ever will be._

_The sketches you sent me are amazing, as always, and the words are all you need, Chess.  Seeing your home through your eyes is… well, I know Dust Town isn’t all that beautiful, but I think you see it that way, and it shows._

_Thank you for believing I’m doing a good job. I don’t know if you know me well enough yet to judge, but it’s nice to hear. And the hug was a nice touch, too. Ho, a pun! I’m firing myself._

_Shit, okay, I guess I want to hear how you became a Warden. Cliche, I know, but give me the real juicy story about how you became Ferelden’s finest hero. I don’t know what I could offer in return, though. Again, ask away and I’ll do my best._

_\- V_

_P.S. If you want me to stop talking badly about myself, you really don’t want to hear what I think of myself from that night. I was a creep for making that move, putting you in that spot. I mean, you don’t think so?_

* * *

**13 Firstfall 9:33**

_What! That is such a big request!_

_Okay so, like last time I sent some drawings too, but here’s the real scoop! You ready!?_

_Let’s just say it’s funny that your family got kicked out for fixing Provings because GUESS WHAT_

_So there was a Proving going on to honor a Grey Warden who was visiting Orzammar. I didn’t know the guy until I met him right before the Proving. It’s not like that kind of stuff ever mattered to people like me._

_I was sent on a job to help make sure the right guy won that Proving by dosing some other guy’s ale. No big deal, right? Except the guy my boss wanted to win was totally shitfaced drunk when me and Leske got there. We had already fucked up earlier in the day by letting a guy get away, so if we let this job go bad, it could have been a death sentence for both of us. Fun times!_

_Leske wasn’t any good with sword and armor, but I was, so it was pretty clear what had to happen. I just pretended to be the guy. Evv_ [scribble] _Evard? Something like that. It doesn’t matter, I guess._

_I kicked ass!!! It was so… I can’t even really say how awesome it felt to have people cheering for me like that. It was the first time any of those assholes had ever noticed me. I mean, they thought I was some old drunk guy because I had a helmet on, but, you know._

_And I WON, and then… then the drunk guy came out on the field and people knew I was a fake. I had to take the helmet off. I had to face the Shaper, the King, and the Grey Warden, and show them all that a brand won their Proving. Duncan, the Grey Warden, tried to speak up for me, but it was too late. I was taken down by the guards, and I woke up in my boss’s jail. Still don’t know how he made that happen, but he got Leske too. I felt really bad for that._

_Leske was my best friend, and I hated getting him in that kind of trouble. We got out when nobody was looking, and we ended up killing our boss before he could kill us. The really bad thing was, the boss wasn’t a brand, so the guards were still mad at me for killing a real dwarf._

_And that’s when Duncan stopped them from arresting and killing me on the spot. He said he could take me as a Warden, and he wanted me to join him, because I had proven myself. He even yelled at the guards for not seeing how awesome I was! So I took all the blame so Leske could get away clean, and I said goodbye to Rica, and left with Duncan that day. It was kind of the best and worst day of my life, you know? I won a Proving, I became somebody. But I also almost died, again, and I left my sister behind without being able to protect her. That sucked._

_A week or two later, I was a real Warden. Those were good days, when we were traveling, except for how the sky is huge and there’s rain and thunder????? what the fuck Varric I mean I pretend I’m cool with it all now but sometimes I still wonder what the fuck is wrong with the surface_

_Anyway, the night I really joined was the battle of Ostagar, the one that fucked everything up for everyone, forever! But that’s a different story._

_So that’s how I became a Warden!  Not a lot of people know that story. It’s not one I talk about much. My life before being a Warden was pretty messy, and I had to do a lot of stuff I didn’t want to. People got hurt who didn’t need to be. Now I try to keep that from happening._

_Oh, I guess I need to ask something now. I know some of how you and Viona started hanging out, so… I guess it’d be cool to know how you got the whole gang together?_

_~R_

_P.S. Do you really think I didn’t want you to kiss me, Varric?_

* * *

**18 Firstfall 9:33**

_Maker’s balls. You could write a novel out of that story alone. I wouldn’t, because it’s your story, but… I see it as the beautiful young heroine rising up from the ashes of society, tired of being stepped on and finally stepping back on the people who kept her down. It’s everything an origin story should be, Chess._

_We’ve all done stuff we didn’t think we would do. I don’t look at you any differently because of what you’ve had to do. Anyone who would doesn’t deserve to look at you, anyway._

_Ah, that’s easy enough. Meeting Hawke was less of a chance than she thinks it was. I heard about her coming to town, and I knew she was from a family with some old ties in town. They weren’t good ties, but old and good can be the same thing in a nobles’ mind. Besides, she looked like she was good at getting shit done, and I needed someone else with a good brain so I wouldn’t lose my shit in the Deep Roads._

_So I pulled her aside before Bartrand got to her, told her the deal. I liked her, though her brother was always a pissy fellow. Viona came from Ferelden with Aveline, the Guard Captain. You saw her a couple times when you were here, I think. She’s big on rules. They were all adventuring around town, and I joined because it seemed like more fun than reading the latest sales reports of the businesses I kind of own._

_Isabela was staying at the Hanged Man, too, and it turned out she needed some friends. She’s very friendly, as I think you know. Fenris was a sneaky bastard. He led us down a false lead using some other guy as a front, all to try and get some information on his master. It was a trap his master had set for him, and we had to kill a shitton of Tevinters to get out of there. He showed up, was all broody and handsome like he pretends not to be, and we helped him clear out more slavers then took him to get a drink, because his life is shit._

_Anders we picked up on a tip that he was a Warden and could help us out in the Deep Roads. Turns out he stole some of your maps, oops. I’ll tell him to send them back, if he still has them. Naughty Anders._

_We found Merrill on elf mountain while we were on a job that required a Dalish guide, and she was getting kicked out. There was some disagreement I’m still not sure I really understand, but it was messy and she was sad. I have tea with her every week and I try to keep Templars out of her hair, and I think it helps. She seems happier. Isabela plays cards with her, too, and sometimes even cheats against her. That’s how Daisy knows she’s actually part of the group._

_Sebastian wasn’t around when we went to the Deep Roads, but he’s a Chantry boy who needed help cleaning up the aftermath of losing his royal family back in Starkhaven. He’s a snooze, but Viona seems to put up with him more after losing Leandra. He’s been helping her through it, so I guess I can’t hate him._

_I feel like you tossed me an easy one, but maybe that’s just because the thing I want to know the most isn’t being talked about at all._

_I’m putting this in the script, because it’s my question to you. You don’t have to answer, but I pray you do, because I’m going a little mad here._

_If you wanted me to, why did you kick me out?_

_V_

* * *

**23 Firstfall 9:33**

_Somewhere out there, there’s another world where I didn’t stop us that night. Where you kissed me, and I kissed you, and our hands kept going and our bodies didn’t stop and it was amazing. It would have been so great._

_But that’s a world where you leave when you’re done, and you forget about me and I try to forget about you, because we got what we thought we wanted._

_That’s a world where I never hear from you again, I never get to draw you pictures or share my stories with you or learn about where you come from, and that is the saddest, loneliest world I could ever think of._

_I don’t regret the kiss. I loved the kiss. I want to kiss you again, and knowing more about you has only made that worse. I want to live the other end of that night so bad sometimes._

_But I just want it to matter._

_Don’t you? Or am I wrong about all of this? Can you answer that?_

_R_

* * *

**30 Firstfall 9:33**

_You don’t know what you’re asking when you ask me that. You couldn’t know, it’s not your fault. But there’s…_

_I did this once. Not exactly this, with the meeting by chance and the letters and getting to know someone across the ocean. But I’ve been here once before, with someone I thought could change my life._

_It went so unbelievably bad. We nearly started a war, and I fucked everything up. We write letters, too. We have for years. Eight years, like you asked. But I’m not even supposed to know she still exists. Shit, she’s married now._

_And I still live in a fantasy world where things will work out._

_That’s what I do, Rook._

_I live in fantasy worlds. I make other people real, and I tell their stories._

_Asking something to really matter to me, here, now, is..._

_It’s too much. I’m not built for this to work. It nearly killed me last time._

_I don’t want to do that to you, too. And the question I can’t even begin to answer is, why would you even want me to?_

* * *

**4 Haring 9:33**

_Varric,_

_You didn’t actually answer my question, you know. So I’m not going to answer yours._

_I’ve been hurt a lot. I know you have been, too. It sounds like things went really bad. I don’t expect you to stop caring about this person. I don’t think it ever has to get easier for something to be over._

_I had to say goodbye to someone I started to love, so he could go back to Par Vollen after the Blight ended. I wear a necklace he gave me to remind me of him, but sometimes it hurts to see. Things fell apart with Zevran after Sten left. I still work with Zevran, and we love each other, but… it’s not the same. And he’s in love with my best friend now. They won’t admit it, but I know they are. I’m happy for them, but I’m so fucking lonely sometimes, too._

_That’s not the worst, though._

_I had to kill Leske when I came back to Orzammar, Varric. He was so good, and I loved him so much. Really loved him. He never even knew. But he made bad choices, and he jumped into the fight against the new Carta boss to protect her. Because he didn’t get lucky like me. And I don’t think I can ever forgive myself for that fight._

_But I have to keep going. I have to try to do good to make up for the bad I’ve done. I have to believe I can make the world better, even if I did some of the bad. Even if it’s always going to hurt._

_I don’t understand why you don’t want to be part of the good you’ve made in the world. I don’t know why you think you’re so awful. You’ve only helped your friends and your family and tried to do your best for everyone. What were you supposed to do instead?_

_If you think you’re awful, I don’t know what that means about me._

_Because I like you, a lot._

_It doesn’t mean you owe me anything. I can move on. I can even leave you alone, if you want me to. But I bet you’re tired of people moving on without you. And I don’t want to._

_I don’t have any answers, I just know what I feel. That’s all I’ve ever had._

_~R_

* * *

**9 Haring 9:33**

_You don’t get it. You think so well of me, but… I’m a coward, Rook. I’ve always been. It all fell apart because I couldn’t choose to be brave, to leave what I knew and chase what I wanted. I couldn’t choose to have a life when it mattered, so I just stopped wanting one._

_Until I met you._

_I don’t know what to say. Everything you’ve been through, everything you believe. You’re so much stronger than me, and I don’t know what I’m doing. Shit._

_I don’t want you to leave me alone, but I don’t want to lead you on for something I can’t give you._

_Just…_

_I need some time. Can you give me some time? You don’t owe me anything, I know. And I’m being a coward by asking, but this feels different. Please give me a chance to think._

_V_

* * *

**12 Haring 9:33**

_I can wait a little longer, Varric. I will wait._

_I don’t want to let this go, either. And I’m pretty damn stubborn. Everyone says so._

_Be safe, okay? And don’t make a decision for me. Make it for you. Whatever it is, I respect it, and I respect you._

_~Chess_

* * *

**18 Drakonis 9:34**

Varric sat with a quill in his hand, unable to make the letters he wanted to for what felt like the hundredth day in the row. Maybe he was cursed. Or maybe it was so much simpler than that. Maybe it was too late, anyway. Maybe, maybe, mayb-- The quill snapped against his skin, where he had been gripping it so tight it broke.

“Fitting,” he sighed, throwing the corpse of a pen against the wall, nearly hitting the mantle of his fireplace.

He stood to look for another, wondering if this time the words would come. Any words at all. Maker, he needed some words. They had all but abandoned him, and it left him feeling so achingly bare.

Quills, though. He had plenty of quills. He flipped one back into his hand, trying to instill himself with the confidence he carried when writing his novels, but his stride was interrupted by a sharp, barking voice calling his name.

Viona burst into the room, something between fear and rage in her eyes.

The pen was forgotten. “Shit, Hawke! Where’s the fire?”

“Varric,” she rasped, her voice sounding like she had been shouting for a while. “Isabela’s gone.”

“What? Weren’t you just going to recover her--” Realization sank in his chest. “She didn’t.”

“She did.”

“After everything?”

Viona laughed bitterly, then turned and drove her fist into the frame of his door. It dented and splintered under the force of her magic and fury. He knew the feeling.

“Hawke, what happened?”

“She lied about everything, Varric. All of it. Her artifact was the Tome of fucking Koslun,” she breathed. “And she left us to clean her mess. I thought we…No. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Wait… the Tome? _THE Tome_? Rivaini had the thing that--”

“The one thing the Qunari need to leave. The one thing that could have fixed this Maker-forsaken town, the one thing… She didn’t trust me. She didn’t… I could have helped her.”

Varric went to Viona’s side, his hand on her back. Of course things were falling apart again. Was he the fool for thinking they would stay fine? Things were always fine, until they weren’t. He just needed a little more time. _Just enough for it all go down in flames again, coward._

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Hawke. You know it’s not your fault if she didn’t trust you. She’s in deep in some dark places.”

She shook him off, turned to him. “You don’t understand,” she laughed again, but her tears gave it a sick sharpness. “Don’t you get it? The Qunari know. They think we’ve had it all along. Aveline is taking us to talk to them, tonight. Now. The Viscount’s been so fucking useless since Saemus, and Petrice and her fucking riots made the people want blood. It’s just all so bloody beautiful. We are fucked. Isabela fucked us all. Maker help us.”

There was a joke that felt like poison on his tongue, and he swallowed it.

Nothing left to do, Varric grabbed his coat and secured Bianca to his back and looked up at his best friend, taking her hand in his.

“Let’s go, Hawke. We can handle this.”

* * *

**25 Drakonis 9:34**

Rook stood on the balcony of her quarters, letting the cold winds whip against her face. Finally, the weather gave them a day where the snow took enough of a break for her to enjoy a look at the clouds. She never thought clouds would be something she’d enjoy looking at, but, well, things change.

She reflected on the months that had passed. She’d been in touch with Weisshaupt, asking for permission to recall Loghain Mac Tir to Vigil’s Keep, to appoint him Warden-Commander in Ferelden. His position in Orlais had gone on more than long enough, as it was a cruel punishment to begin with, and he was far more qualified to lead than she. The response had come just the day before. They put the call out to him. Loghain would be back soon, and she would be relieved of duty, allowed the freedom to travel and recruit.

The thought of seeing Loghain was a nice one. The curmudgeon had been kind to her, once the Civil War’s dust had settled. He’d shown her respect, way more than she had expected. Plus, knowing she could put him closer to Anora made Rook happy. She only wanted to do good by everyone. Why was it so hard sometimes?

An emptiness sat in her heart as she stared up at the grey clouds. Some things change. And some don’t.

Rook sighed as she heard a light knock at the door, knowing it wasn’t a messenger. She stepped back inside from the cold, closing the large doors behind her.

“Come in,” she called.

Erina entered, and her eyes brought a chill deeper than the frost to Rook’s bones.

“Rook,” the elf’s voice was so quiet. Why was she so quiet? “Something happened.”

“What is it? Ancestors, what’s wrong?”

Erina held a note in her hands, extending it to Rook with fingers that looked far too pale.

As Rook grabbed at the paper, Erina answered. “Something’s happened in Kirkwall.”


	20. Missing Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirkwall is in disarray, Varric is missing, and Rook feels it all coming undone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a reposting of the chapter I posted a few weeks ago. My apologies. Little of it changed, but some of it needed tweaking to feel more true to character. Thanks for reading!

**19 Drakonis 9:34**

It was dawn, and Varric stood outside the Keep in silent, broken observation of the chaos around him. He tried to pretend he didn’t know the faces of the dead that the guards gathered around him. Nobles, servants, children. It didn’t seem to matter. Everyone simply represented an obstacle to the mighty force of the Qun. His town meant nothing to them.

His town.

He remembered the way he saw it once before. It was grimy, but under the grime lay a beating heart that kept the crime and order flowing in equal parts. He had loved this town, and he thought it loved him, too. It was the only thing he had ever stood by, his entire life. The one thing he committed to, stood up for. The one thing he fought for. Kirkwall.

Was Kirkwall always like this? Was this pile of corpses the life he had traded for his own? He thought he loved this town enough for it to sustain him when nobody else could. He also thought it loved him back.

As he walked down the steps of the Keep, Varric couldn’t remember ever feeling so empty. His friends were fine, but he’d failed them all one by one. Hawke saved the day. Of course she did. It would make a great story. Isabela came back, a triumphant peak of romance that could grace the cover of the novel he could write about it all. Another story where the hero saves the day, gets the girl, and nobody has to remember the baker’s son getting skewered by a spear.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs, vision blurry, stomach heaving.

He remembered thinking, running through the screaming streets to escape the Qunari compound, that he’d be lucky to see the sun one more time. Yet as light poured over the town, it wasn’t his anymore, if it ever had been.

* * *

 

**25 Drakonis 9:34**

“What is this?” Rook’s eyes couldn’t focus on the words, as though they were trying to go back to a time when they never knew words at all. “What happened?”

Erina wouldn’t look at her. “There was a revolt. The Qunari… the Arishok and his men overtook the city. It all happened in the span of a day, and nobody’s being clear about what happened. The news coming out of the city is confusing, but all of it says that it’s bad, Rook.”

She looked up from the useless report. “How bad?”

“Rook…”

“How. Bad.” Her teeth were gritted so tightly, she thought her skull might crack.

“They killed a lot of people. A lot of nobles, a lot of citizens. There’s not a list yet. There may never be, in this chaos. And it made a good opportunity for a lot of people to escape, if they could.”

Rook balled the report in her fist and threw it in the fire. “What do you know, Erina? What do we  _know_?”

Erina’s nostrils flared. “We know that someone killed the Arishok. It sounds like it might be this Hawke person you described.”

“So Hawke’s okay? If Hawke’s okay, then--”

“They killed the Viscount, Rook. We don’t  _know_ who is okay. The people who could tell us were scattered, and it’s not like we had informants camped in Kirkwall.”

“I had one.” Rook sank into a seat in front of the fire, her whole body suddenly feeling heavy, molten. “Erina, are you… are you trying to tell me that he’s dead?”

Erina sat stiffly in another chair, just out of her vision. “I don’t know, Rook. I don’t know if he’s okay, but that’s better than knowing he’s not.”

“How do we find out?”

“We’re contacting everyone we can to get more information. Zevran’s even reaching out to old contacts. We know… we know this is important.”

“It was supposed to be,” Rook whispered as she stared into the fire, not even trying to stop her worried tears any longer. Holding it together wouldn’t help now.

* * *

 

**29 Drakonis 9:34**

Rook sent a bird to the Hanged Man and waited anxiously for word while news continued to pour in. Hawke had defeated the Arishok. Nobody knew who had been present with her. There were casualties still being tallied, and Hawke’s associates weren’t exactly people who wanted to be seen and recorded.

She remained hopeful, though. If anyone could pull out of that mess and be okay, surely it was Hawke and her best friend. Right?

* * *

 

**3 Cloudreach 9:34**

Their bird came back, letter still attached to his leg. Undelivered.

Rook burned the letter.

Zevran and Erina held her through that night.

* * *

 

**10 Cloudreach 9:34**

Rook sat at her desk, trying to keep busy. It was late at night, and she was tired, but sleep kept avoiding her. Her thoughts were just too noisy, and work always made a good distraction. Besides, Loghain stood to arrive in a matter of a few weeks, and there was a lot to prepare before handing over the Wardens to him. It felt like a good trade when she dreamed it up. Her people were hesitant to be under Loghain’s command, given the history, but a fallen hero is still a hero, and he knew his stuff. He’d do a good job. And she would be free to… to what?

Had she really been dreaming of a life in Kirkwall? Was there ever really a chance to have another life of adventure and friends and romance? Or, she wondered as her fingers traveled the tooth on a chain against her chest, was she just trying to recreate something that already ended? Was she living in a fantasy world, too?

It had felt so real, to her at least. But sometimes, just because you think something is real, it doesn’t mean someone else does. Right? Her chest ached as she remembered that it might not even matter if he had felt anything anyway.

Erina tried to encourage her, saying it was still too soon to know happened, but that also meant she stopped Rook from packing all of her things and traveling to a city under martial law following an invasion. Rook wanted to know. Needed to know. And it was torture to sit, to wait.

Over time, more news trickled in. Apparently the Arishok had declared Kirkwall a lost cause, had tried to seize control in his rage at being stranded there. She remembered talks with Sten about the Qunari idly planning to claim and redeem the South, about how much they needed the order the Qun could provide. This couldn’t have been what he meant. What order was there in just up and slaying the people who live somewhere? What did that accomplish? This wasn’t the machine she’d expected.

Worse, with the Arishok dead, Rook wanted to reach out to Sten. She wanted to ask if things were okay there, but it wasn’t a good time. She knew it wouldn’t be for a while. Whether the leadership ordered the Kirkwall takeover or not (she had to believe they didn’t), things were probably a mess. A big leader of your people can’t up and die without it causing some problems, as she sure remembered.

Mostly, she just wanted to talk to someone she loved, to know that something was right in this world.

Everything just went so wrong so fast. She felt naive, knowing that sudden acts of violence shouldn’t surprise her anymore. Loss was part of the life she’d lived, always.

But she’d really, honestly believed things could be okay. She heard Varric’s laugh in her head at that thought.  _Things will be okay? Now you’re just asking for trouble, Chess._

Like picking at a scab, Rook pulled open a drawer, gathering the letters she kept there and spreading them out over her desk. It hurt all over again, and she really didn’t care if it ever healed. They were so close to something good. Things were so close…

A heavy, slow knock came at the door.

Rook swallowed hard, trying to release the grief in her throat so she could talk. “Erina,” she called, “I told you, I’m fine. Go to bed.”

No response from the door. She shoved the letters back in the drawer and stood, equal parts angry and relieved to have her mourning ritual interrupted. “What is it?”

The knock repeated, and she heard shuffling outside. Maybe her emotions were just a little frayed, but fear pricked at her skin as she approached. It was far too late for it to be anyone who was supposed to be there.

One hand curled into a fist, ready to block or strike, she slowly opened the door.

A broad hand rested against the doorframe, supporting the tired weight of her visitor. Her fist stilled itself with the beat of her heart when her eyes locked onto his.

“Hi, Chess,” Varric said.

All at once, Rook felt every emotion she’d ever felt before, and some new ones, but all she could do was smile. “Varric?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out a weak laugh, and it warmed her from the inside out. “If that’s okay with you.”

Rook’s head began nodding of its own accord, her fingers finding the leather arms of his coat so she could pull him into the room. As he stumbled forward, a couple heavy packs he had been carrying fell to the ground. The door closed behind them.

“You’re here,” she said, studying him closely, her smile feeling more real as her hands rested against his coat. It felt cold from the outside. A little wet. Was it raining? Did it matter? “You’re really here,” she repeated, a question and a confirmation all at once.

Varric started to speak, but she interrupted him by suddenly releasing him. “I thought you were dead!”

The wince on his face almost made her regret saying it. “I… shit. I’m sorry. So much happened, and I--”

“You didn’t think to send a bird?!”

“I didn’t know you would know what was happening!”

“That Qunari invaded a city state!?”

“Well, they’re not  _darkspawn_ ,” he offered lamely.

Rook frowned, the steam leaving her system as quickly as it built up. This pursuit didn’t matter, not  _now_. “You’re really okay?” she prodded, more gently.

Varric stood from his shrugging, apologetic stance. “I’m getting there. Shit, so much went wrong, and I just… I had to get out of there. I couldn’t just keep hiding in Kirkwall, hoping things would be fine. I couldn’t make you wait anymore, and… I didn’t want to, either.”

Rook closed the gap between them again, pressing her hands to his rough, stubbled cheeks, still warming from the cold. “And you’re really here,” she whispered, tears in her eyes again.

“I am,” he answered. Maybe it was just the low light of the fireplace and the candles, but he looked like he might be crying, too. “I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“You got here,” she said, sliding her hands down to his chest. “That’s all I care about.”

Varric cupped her chin in his hand, his thumb brushing over her cheek and sending sparks across every nerve in her body. “You, uh, still want me to kiss you again?” he whispered.

“Uh-huh, yes,” Rook nodded, nearly vibrating in excitement.

Before the breath escaped her, his arms circled her waist and pulled her against him. His lips were hungry for hers, and she felt like she might melt in his grasp. The scratch of his stubble tickled her chin, and she knew it might sting in the morning, but she just couldn’t care.

Rook remembered their first kiss, quick and hard and rough, like two secrets that couldn’t be shared with each other. This time, though, she felt pulled into him, welcomed, desired. She tasted the outside on his lips, and ale on his tongue, but somewhere between it all was something beautiful. Just him, all there, finally.

Her hands began traveling over his chest, beneath the crease of his shirt, and Rook felt each small grunt he made in her core. Soft hair rolled under her fingers as she journeyed over thick muscles and soft skin, coming to rest just over his heart.

He pulled back first, though she could tell from the tension in his arms, in the tightness of his grip on her, that he wanted more. He was still so cautious with his movements. What was he really so afraid of?

Varric pressed his forehead to hers, breathless. In the stillness, a weight grew between them, broken only when he lifted his head and quietly said, "I think I'm falling in love with you, and I need you to know that nothing I've ever done has scared me as much as saying that."

Rook's face was the portrait of surprise, and she hoped it didn't look like rejection. He was searching every inch of her face and as seconds passed, she was starting to feel as scared as he was. But that fear wasn't hers, and she wasn't going to stand for it.

"Come here," Rook broke through it as she urged him closer to her. She slipped her arms beneath the warmth of his coat, and linked them tight around his thick middle, letting her cheek rest against him. He was at the perfect height, and it made her feel warm all over to realize it. She closed her eyes and breathed in slowly. "I've already fallen, Varric. It's not so bad down here. I promise."

She felt a burst of cool air as he inhaled a sharp breath at her words, soon followed by the heat of his slow exhale against the crook of her neck. His arms clasped around her, and he held her like he couldn’t get enough of her at once.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmured, and she pressed her body to his in response. She felt his heartbeat, and it mirrored hers.

She felt flush, but maybe he couldn’t see. “Not so bad yourself, Tethras,” she played it off.

He snorted in amusement against her, his hands traveling from her hips up her back, then back down again. There came a slight shift, then his hand suddenly slid against the warm skin of the dip of her back, a pleasant shock to her system.

“Your hands are cold,” she hissed, fishing around his back until she found an entrance to his shirt. She grabbed onto his sides with both hands, and he yelped in protest.

“Hey!”

“You started it!”

Varric gave her a playful scowl. “Do you want me to stop it?”

Rook shook her head quickly in faux remorse. “No, please.”

His grin spoke of intentions she was dying to discover, and his hands were no longer cool against her. Warm fingers caressed the skin of her back beneath her shirt, and she remembered just how badly she once wanted to feel them everywhere.

This was even worse, and they both knew it.

Without another word, Rook pulled him to her again, needing to taste him, needing him to taste her. She began a walk backward that kept him following. She hit the bed first, and Varric pressed her into it, guiding her back and sliding a knee between her legs as he leaned over her.

Varric sucked her lower lip into his mouth before he parted, his breathing heavy, hungry. “Rook,” he started, and hearing her name on his lips sent a shiver down her spine. “Are you sure about this?”

Rook ran her fingers through his hair, pulling his ponytail loose and running her nails over his scalp. He hissed again, leaning into her touch. From where she lay, she saw how badly he wanted to continue, and it only stoked the fire growing in her.

She urged him back down to her until his body pressed into hers, until she could squeeze his leg with her thighs and feel his hardness against her.

“I’ve wanted this since you left that night,” she admitted. “I wanted you then, and I couldn’t even sleep until I did something about it. So yeah, I really want this, Varric. You?”

The strained groan that traveled through him made his arms shake as he held himself over her, and she knew she’d struck gold. “Shit, Chess,” he exhaled. “You’re going to kill me.”

She giggled and started pulling at his shirt. “We can stop if it’s too much.”

“No,” he said as he let her take it over his head. When she saw his face again, the intensity in his eyes burned even hotter. “Maker’s breath, I wanted you, too. But now -- I  _need_ you.”

Anticipation, excitement, and pure joy flooded her, and she arched her back into his hands as they slid slowly up her front. She whimpered as his fingers teased over her breast, shifting her hips against him again.

“Well, you have me,” she coaxed, locking eyes with him as a dare formed on her lips. “So take me.”

* * *

 

**11 Cloudreach 9:34**

Varric woke in an entirely new world. Though he knew little of dreams, he guessed the previous night came the closest he’d ever been to having one. In the waking world, light was breaking through a window in Rook’s quarters, a large and sprawling space sectioned off into an office, a sitting area, and a bed. A nice enough bed, but without the constant clatter of angry drunks below him, he wasn’t sure how to know he was in the right place.

The body next to him shifted slightly, and he smiled as he gently ran a hand over Rook’s closely shaven hair. In her half-asleep state, she moved closer to him, secured herself to him and used his chest as her pillow.

That was how he knew he was in the right place.

He took the quiet moment as a chance to study her, to commit her to memory as her own story. His fingers traveled the details slowly, caressing her dark, brown, beautiful skin and covering the marks of her life so far -- so many stories he didn’t yet know. There were dustings of freckles on her cheeks, nose, and shoulders that glowed to life when the sun hit them. Her blunt, broad nose was adorable, no matter how many times it might have been broken, and no matter how much she’d blush at the sentiment.

He looked further, taking in all of her. She was a marvel, managing somehow to be the strongest and the softest person he’d ever touched. Thick arms and thighs and middle were layered with muscle and protection and comfort, and she was perfect.

She was also drooling on his chest, but she was perfect.

Varric walked two fingers down her outside arm, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Chess,” he whispered. “You might have a job you’re supposed to be doing.”

“Fuck ‘em,” she muttered, snuggling further into his chest to block out the light.

"Come on, now,” he chided. “I don’t want to be responsible for getting you fired.”

“Can’t fire a Warden,” Rook mumbled, but he could tell she was coming out of it. “It’s a lifetime thing.”

Varric had heard some stories of Wardens, and he realized there were some things he’d need cleared up. Some were troubling, some just bizarre. Some both. But those could wait until another day. His urge to ruin a good thing was remarkably quiet and complacent that morning.

His partner sat up slowly, arms held high in an exuberant yawn. Seeing her move made his blood stir, but he willed it to be quiet for just a few minutes longer.  _At least let me eat._

“Morning,” Rook said with a grin.

He moved to touch her, but was stopped by a commotion outside her door.

“Erina,” a beautifully accented man started, “let her rest.”

“She’s going to want to hear this, Zevran.”

“She has not slept in days, let her be.”

Then a loud sigh, to which Rook twitched in response.

“Oh shit,” Rook gathered the sheets up to her chest. “She’s coming in.”

“Who--”

The door burst open, and two elves entered, one with red braids, the other with golden locks. Braids looked angry, but Varric suspected that might just be her face. Goldilocks looked apologetic.

Braids started talking as soon as the door opened. “Rook! Get up, I have news for--”

Goldie rushed in after her, clearing his throat loudly. “Amor, I think she knows.”

Rook waved happily at them both, and Varric wanted to die.

“... Varric’s alive.” Braids sighed with a withering glare. “Hi, Varric.”

Given that the bed refused to swallow him whole, he turned on the charm. “Erina, I presume?”

“Yeah.”

“You have lovely penmanship.” _Nailed it._

Braids became Grumpy. “Thanks. Rook?”

Rook shook with contained giggles, making it hard to find the situation as appropriately dreadful as it should have been.

“Sorry! He got here last night! I…”

“Took him in,” Goldie finished with a knowing smirk. “You are a very kind soul.”

“I know! Now, I love you both, but things are good here, so please, shoo!” Rook pointed toward the door with one hand, her other still shielding herself with the sheets. Varric still liked his view.

Grumpy made a disgusted noise and stormed out. Goldie followed, but not before giving them a grin and the most enthusiastic of upward thumbs.

“Well,” Varric started once the door closed. “They’re… lively.”

“That’s my people,” Rook sighed happily as she lay back, sheets forgotten. “Erina will come around.”

“Grumpy Elf needs to meet Broody Elf,” he chuckled.

Rook’s eyes opened wide. “That would be the most amazing thing. She’d love Fenris.”

“Though from what you’ve told me, she’s with Goldilocks there. I’m assuming he’s Zevran?”

She shrugged. “I think she and I are pretty… I dunno. Open about that kind of thing.” Rook paused, sitting upright again. “Is that a problem?”

Varric tilted his head, studying her face. She appeared genuinely concerned, and it made his heart hurt that he could make her worry, already. He reached out, taking her hands in his, and pressed his lips to the top of them.

“I don’t know everything, but I can tell you now -- I’m never going to complain about you loving people. If I’m lucky enough to keep being one of those people, that’s already more than enough for me.”

Rook blushed, and bopped his nose lightly with the back of her hand. “It’s not luck,” she corrected him.

He felt like he might blush. “Yeah?”

Rook nodded, very seriously. “It’s that hot body.”

“Oh for--” Varric released her hands and went for her belly, digging his fingers in and making her hiccup with giggles.

“Okay! Okay!” she squealed, pushing him back with weak slaps.

He relented, pulling her to him for a kiss, instead, willing that he could be so lucky as to keep touching her soft lips for the rest of his life. When he parted from her, he brushed his hand over the pleasant fuzz of her head.

“Thank you,” he said.

She squinted. “For what?”

Varric smiled, finding it increasingly easier to find the words for the truth he felt. “For making me want to be happy.”

Her warm hand covered his heart, like it had the night before. “You’re very welcome, Varric Tethras. I owe you a thank you, too.”

“What have I ever done that’s worth your gratitude?”

Rook’s grin lit up the room brighter than the sun could ever hope to. “You reminded me how to fight for what I want from life. And I want more than this,” she gestured to the room. “So I’m going for it. Just like I went for you!”

Long past trying to make sense of why she’d see anything in him, Varric quirked an eyebrow over the other piece of information. “Wait, you’re quitting? I thought Warden was a lifetime thing?”

“I’ll always be a Warden,” she laughed. “I’m just going to stop being the Commander here. I never wanted to lead an army, but turns out, you save a whole country, they give you the biggest job as a reward.” The eyeroll and her tone made it clear she didn’t view this as a reward anymore.

“I’d have gone with a vacation and a retirement package,” he agreed. “But what are you planning on doing now?”

“Well,” she drew the last sound out, and his thoughts were briefly held captive by the sight of her tongue. “I think I might have some breakfast, have more sex, and maybe think about exploring some of those ruins you talked about near Kirkwall. In that order, probably.”

“You… want to move to Kirkwall?”

Rook shrugged. “Maybe! It’s just an option! I mean… were you never planning on going back? Wait, where  _have_  you been? We, uh, didn’t talk as much as we probably should have.”

Varric cleared his throat, hoping his brain had prepared him for this. “Well, I took the long way here. Mostly, that means I didn’t want to ride by boat until I damn well had to. The ocean is just as terrible as I thought, by the way.”

She nodded sympathetically. Dwarves just weren’t meant for the open sea.

He continued, glancing away. “I traveled alone, and it took a while to navigate here. Ferelden roads are shit, and… well. I might have circled a few times before I was ready to be here. I really didn’t mean to make you worry. I didn’t know if…” He sighed and looked back up at her. “Kirkwall will always be my home, but… I just took a leap, and I probably didn’t plan it very well. ”

“Does Viona know where you are?”

“I left her a note, but I didn’t tell her exactly where I was going. I should probably write to her, but she might send back a fire glyph on a piece of paper if she’s angry at me. Which she probably is. Kind of perpetually, really.”

“Hm.” Rook’s brow furrowed, and he felt a sudden twinge of guilt.

Well, if it was coming, he’d try to cut it off at the pass. “You do have every right to kick me out of here. I know I didn’t handle any of this well.”

She rolled her eyes and punched him lightly in the arm, releasing his tension before it could overflow. “Shut up, you’re staying here. If you still want to, anyway.” A pause hung between her words. “I mean, you don’t  _have_  to stay here, you know.”

Varric ran a hand through his hair, trying not to laugh at the both of them. “I’m pretty sure I’d like to be here, Chess. After all, I think you said there’d be breakfast.”

“And sex,” Rook confirmed with a very animated set of eyebrows. He felt like he might be falling in love with her all over again, just watching her face. A small voice told him this was pathetic, but he ignored it. Sometimes a little intoxication was good for you.

“Then it’s settled. We can figure all this other shit out as we go. After breakfast.” Before she could say it, he smirked and added, “And sex.”

“Deal!” Pleased, Rook bounced out of bed and started getting dressed. She even did  _that_ with boundless energy. “I’ll show you around, too. Introduce you to Erina and Zevran again. With clothes on this time.”

She paused and looked over her bare shoulder at him. “You do have more clothes?”

“I brought some, don’t worry,” Varric laughed as he climbed out of bed, the cold Fereldan air greeting him more harshly than he’d anticipated. _Frozen-ass dog country._

“Oh, I wasn’t worried.” Rook grinned. “I was hoping to show you off.”

He rubbed his neck sheepishly as he walked to his baggage that got strewn about the place, trying to pretend he wasn’t feeling like a teenager again. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get a second chance at all of this. Maybe it would end in disaster like the last time, but…

As Varric dressed, he stared across the room at the beacon of hope he’d found. When she caught him looking at her, they both looked away quickly, blushing as though they hadn’t seen all of each other the night before. Maybe there  _was_ a lot more yet to see. For once in his life, he was excited by the prospect.

In fact, despite every impulse, every lesson he’d ever learned the hard way, he couldn’t help believing that things might actually get better. It was impossible to deny: With her, anything was possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can forgive me for the fade-to-black scene! If it left you wanting more, I assure you I will do my best to create a bonus chapter with more detail! There's a little more denouement on the way, but thank you so much for reading this far!! I hope you're as happy as I am for these two, because this felt really great to finally be able to share.


	21. It's Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for Rook to say goodbye to Vigil's Keep, to end one chapter and begin another.

**5 Justinian 9:34**

The sun had only just come up, and Rook stood alone in the training yard. For once, she walked the grass without her armor, no heavy sword or hammer in her hands. For old time’s sake, she wanted to give those dummies a run for their money, but she needed her energy.

This was her last day here, after all. 

It’d been about two months since Varric arrived at her door, and the memory still made her grin.In the time since, he’d stayed, taken some tours, gotten to know her friends (Zevran liked him; Erina liked that Rook liked him, a generous opinion from her), and caught up on some business with Orzammar. That one was less fun, but necessary. And it gave him a chance to keep his own space and business while there, making their shared space and business all the more enjoyable.

As their departure loomed closer, Varric also wrote to his friends to get things ready for their return to Kirkwall. It was easier once Viona knew he was alive and well, and once she had gotten some choice words off her chest about him disappearing the way he did. He was very apologetic, he wrote to Viona from Rook’s bed. “I’m sure,” was her response. “Do it again and you will be.”

He did a pretty good impression of her, but Varric swore he’d never let her hear it. “I prefer my hair to be just slightly unkempt, and completely un-singed.”

The reason they were free to leave? It had also been one month since Warden Loghain made his triumphant return to Ferelden and began establishing his presence at the Keep. All too soon, it would be his to run, and Rook would be on the road, across an ocean, in a whole new life. The time felt like a blur, and it was dizzying sometimes to think about it really happening, but that was how Rook liked life to be. Take the chances when they come, and chase that horizon.

So why was it suddenly so hard to keep her feet moving?

Light steps approached her from behind, soon followed by the warmth of an arm around her shoulders. Though surprised, she leaned into the familiar touch with a smile, continuing to stare across the training yards of Vigil’s Keep.

“Did I startle you, amor?” Zevran asked.

“You’re sneaky,” Rook chided him.

“It is my way,” he laughed, but it was brief. His tone after was quiet, serious, a strange sound on him. “What has you lost in thought? Are you well?”

Rook felt herself get a little teary, but she nodded. “I am. It’s just hard to leave, after everything that’s happened here. But… this is what I wanted. I need to keep moving.”

He clicked his tongue in sympathy, squeezing her. “You are meant to see the world, and all it has to offer you. You are following your happiness, there is no reason to cry.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, turning so she could bury her face against his chest with her strong hug. “I love you, you know that, right?”

“Oh, Rook.” He held her tight, kissing the top of her head. “I know. Do not ever fret about that. You changed my life, let me feel what it meant to hope again. You will never be far from my heart.”

“Good,” she sniffled. “You’re the best friend I made when I first came topside, you know?” She looked up at him, still smiling. “You’re not allowed to just disappear from my life.” She poked at his chest to drive the point home.

He covered the point of her impact with his hand in faked shock, but his honeyed eyes were misty, too. “You will not be rid of me for long. I promise you this.”

She hugged him just short of where he normally begged for mercy. “Okay,” she said, stretching her arms a bit. “I can do this.”

Zevran clasped her shoulder with affection, then gasped as he remembered something. “You must say hello to Isabela for me! I have not written her in some time. I hear tale she caused some of the fuss in Kirkwall.”

“You’d have to ask Varric,” Rook shrugged. “I think he might be kind of mad at her. But I’ll definitely pass on some hugs, and a kiss if I’m daring.”

The elf laughed warmly. “You know me well.”

She flashed him grin, then paused. “Hey, did you come out here just to check on me?”

“I would have, yes, but the esteemed new commander asked that I tell you he would like to speak with you. Erina also awaits your goodbye, though I imagine she will find you in her own time.”

Rook nodded, “Take care of her, okay?”

“If she will allow me, you have my word.”

“Good.” Rook turned to go, but Zevran cleared his throat, stopping her.

“This… Varric.”

“Oh boy,” she sighed, turning back to face him. Despite what she feared, he was smiling.

“If he is not good to you, my services are always available.”

“Don’t threaten to kill people I’m dating, Zevran,” Rook huffed at him.

Zevran raised his hands in protest. “I did not specify the services I was offering.”

“Zevran!”

“I will see to it that you get nothing but the best, in all areas. You deserve no less.”

Rook’s cheeks were burning. “What I’m getting is just fine, thank you!”

He looked proud of himself. Too proud.

“What are you up to?”

His grin was slow and wide. “Erina bet five sovereigns that I could not get you to talk about it.”

“Never mind,” Rook groaned. “I hate you both.”

Zevran bent down and kissed the top of her head. “Go with love, my sweet Warden.”

“Oh, I’m going,” she groused at him, but she kissed his cheek before she left him there.

* * *

“Knock, knock!” Rook announced her presence as she strode into the office space Loghain was settling into.

“Shouldn’t you be more deferential to your commander?” Loghain’s sharp glance and comment were undercut by fondness. She was _pretty_ sure, at least.

Rook hopped up on the side of his desk, avoiding messing up the maps he was studying. “I think there’s a rule that says the person who stepped down gets to ignore the new boss.”

He leaned back in his seat with a sniff. “If there is such a ‘rule’, I imagine it is because _you_ wrote it.”

“It was so good being Queen.”

“You do realize that was not your position, yes?”

Rook grinned. “Zevran said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, well. I wanted to officially give you your new orders.”

He held out a scroll, which he then summarized. “You are tasked with investigating and potentially reactivating the Warden outposts in the Free Marches, beginning with the Vimmark Mountains. You are also requested to serve as a recruiter, and to remain open to tasks relating to public affairs.”

“Ugh, speeches,” she groaned. “But that’s it? Do I need to like… report in or something?”

“That would be helpful, yes. But…” Loghain’s default expression became a little softer. “You will be granted leeway as long as I have a say in it. I owe you no less.”

She waved him off. “You don’t owe me anything, Loghain.”

He chuckled. “Oh, on the contrary. We have seen some dark times, you and I. Often from opposite sides. Yet you granted me a chance to live again after everything that transpired. Bringing me home from Orlais was… yet another kindness I did not expect to receive. So if I have any pull to grant you the young, adventurous life you deserve while times are good, then I will use it.”

Rook slid off the desk and approached the old Warden in his seat. “I’m going to hug you,” she declared.

“Oh,” Loghain sighed. “Must you?”

“It’s happening,” she nodded, and then her arms encircled him. “Thank you.”

He returned the hug, awkward and stiff, but genuine all the same. When it ended, he smiled at her. “You have been a constant surprise, Warden Brosca. You will continue to shock the rest of the world much the same, of that I have little doubt. Be well.”

Rook nodded. “I know things were weird from the beginning with us, but you’re a good guy. And if anyone gives you any trouble down here, I will come back and kick their ass, okay? That’s some public affairs for you.”

“My, you are a tyrant.”

Rook grinned. “Be good, Warden Mac Tir.”

“Andraste watch our Hero as she leaves us for another country,” he chuckled. “And Maker’s mercy on the Free Marches.”

“They won’t know what hit ‘em,” Rook agreed.

* * *

_Two down._

The day was crawling on, and she needed to be moving if the caravan was going to make good time toward the coast. Still, she had one more person to find before she felt okay saying goodbye.

She’d made speeches to the workers and Wardens in the area, shared her gratitude to the people she had led, hoped her words were inspiring and might allow them to trust their new leader a little bit more. She’d thanked the staff who kept the Keep afloat. She’d even hugged Garavel goodbye.

Varric was outside talking to some of the workers and craftsmen, probably negotiating business deals of some kind or another. He told her to take all the time she needed, but the hours were ticking away faster than she liked.

Her target was nowhere to be seen in the main halls, the dining areas, or any of their preferred training areas. The last place she thought to look should have been the first.

Rook surveyed the room she had called home for the past two years, now emptied of the things she put into it. It was a melancholy feeling, one she wasn’t quite comfortable with. After living so many years with nothing, it was strange to have things to fill a life with, and even stranger to pack it all up. As she traced the stones of the room with her fingers, she wondered if no matter what you pack into crates, you always leave some things behind.

Erina stood at Rook’s writing desk, her back to the door. Her slender fingers idly traced the edges of the wood as Rook approached.

“You should be going,” Erina said quietly.

“I couldn’t leave yet. You know that.”

Erina faced Rook, leaning her weight back against the desk. “You don’t expect me to serve the new commander, do you?”

Rook frowned. “Not the way you helped me, no. Besides, I think he already knows how to read his letters.” The light joke didn’t make a dent on Erina’s serious face. Rook sighed.

“Erina, you knew I was planning this. Please don’t shut down on me now.”

Her friend scowled and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not, but I will not serve him. While I was on the run, he let slavers into my alienage. My family… if you hadn’t… no. Fuck that guy. He’s not my Commander.”

Rook only nodded. “I know, and I’m not asking that from you. I’ve told you, you don’t have to stay here. You could come with me.”

“On your honeymoon?” Erina scoffed. “No thanks.”

Ignoring the cut, Rook pressed on. “Then you could go work in the alienage! Or something! I offered to help you find a place when I proposed this switch. I mean it, Erina, I will do anything in my power to get you where you want to be.”

The elf refused to make eye contact. “I felt safe with you here. You listened to me. I knew that someone was looking out for people who can’t look out for themselves, but… Where am I supposed to go? My home is happier with me gone, because I started fights that we can’t win. There’s no Blight to focus on, no Architect and his spawn waiting in the wings. I have nothing.”

“Then come with me!”

“No.”

Rook sighed, exasperated. “What do you want me to do, Erina?”

“I want you to go be happy,” she muttered, glaring at the floor. “Asshole.”

“All right. Come here,” Rook ordered, grabbing Erina’s arm and pulling her away from the desk. She nestled her head firmly above Erina’s bosom and held her friend tight. “I love you, and I want you to be happy, too!  And, for whatever it’s worth to ya, I think you do good work here. You’ve helped a lot of people who needed it, and your voice matters here.

“And on top of all of that, you’ve been my best fucking friend in the whole world, so don’t even think for a minute that I’m going to forget about you. I will pack you in a crate and take you to Kirkwall if you want me to. There’s nothing that’s going to keep me from being here for you, okay? Even if I’m not always, like, _here_.”

Erina stood frozen in her arms for the first few sentences, but Rook’s words thawed her gently. She soon returned the hug, holding tightly to the dwarf.

“I’ll miss you,” Erina whispered, hidden in the hug so that Rook couldn’t see her cry.

“Listen,” Rook urged, refusing to let go. “I’ve _accidentally_ lost a few Wardens in my time, okay? I’m not going to keep you strapped to your service here. I know this isn’t what you wanted for your life. It wasn’t a cool prize you won. It was a last resort, and I don’t want you to live that forever, either.”

Her friend was contemplative as her nails ran over Rook’s neck in small patterns, a pleasant tingle left in their paths.

“Are you suggesting…?” Erina let the question hang.

“I’m just saying, if you were to mysteriously be reported dead or missing, I wouldn’t be surprised. Just warn me first, all right? I can’t handle thinking another one of my friends is dead.”

Rook released her friend and looked up to gauge the response. Erina was smiling. Weakly, but it was there.

“I’ll consider it,” the elf said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Good.”

Erina paused, a thought striking her. “Is Zevran an official worker here?”

A grin crept onto Rook’s face. “Why?”

The elf’s smile became a sneer. “You know why.”

“You want to know if he’s a free agent? Someone you can take with you? Someone you can snuggle with and make kissy faces at?!”

Erina made a disgusted noise. “You must know me better than that.”

“I think I know you better than you want me to,” Rook argued.

With a wave of the hand, Erina brushed the digression away. “Anyway, if I were to take a permanent leave of absence, where would I find you? Kirkwall somewhere?”

“I’ll send a letter as soon as I get set up, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be able to hunt me down without much trouble. The place wasn’t _that_ big. Also I’ll be living in a bar.”

“...you’re certain you’ve thought this through?”

“Oh,” Rook laughed, “I mean, I won’t be there that much. I’ll mostly be scouring old ruins and killing darkspawn and helping keep the townspeople safe.”

“The good life, hm?”

“The best,” Rook beamed.

The conversation went quiet, but Erina ran her fingers over Rook’s head once more, an affectionate gesture slowed down to a studious pace.

“Protect yourself, Rook,” she finally offered. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“I have a good sense of direction,” Rook joked, a defensive twitch. She frowned and tried again. “Please trust me. I know there’s a lot that you’re not so comfortable with, but… I’m excited. I hope you can be happy for me.”

Erina nodded. “I _am_ happy for you, and I wouldn’t want to stand in your way, even if I could. Besides,” she shrugged, “he… seems good to you. Good for you. If this is what you want…”

“It really is,” Rook nodded.

“Then you never have to worry about whether I support you. Ever. I would do anything for you, and I know I can be a royal bitch, but I hope you know that.”

“Hey,” Rook squeezed her friend around the middle one more time. “You’re _my_ royal bitch, and I wouldn’t be anywhere without you. I’d fight the whole world for you, okay?”

Erina laughed, wiping at one eye surreptitiously as Rook parted from her one last time. “You’d win, too.”

“Fuck right I would,” Rook grinned from ear to ear.

“You have a long trip ahead of you.”

“I know. I just… it’s getting harder to leave.”

Erina shook her head. “It’ll get easier when you’re with him. Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

She nodded.

“You aren’t going to give me any last-minute warning about Varric?”

The smile on Erina’s face was slow and certain. “Do I need to?”

“Right, right. Knives, I got it.”

“See? It was understood.”

Rook snorted and headed toward the door, but stopped at the frame. She turned around and smiled. “I love you, Erina.”

The elf hugged herself, nodding in return. “I love you, too. Now go, before he gets suspicious.”

“Please, whatever he thinks is happening would just give him more books to sell,” Rook snorted as she left the room that used to be hers.

* * *

Just at the edges of the courtyard, near the gates, Rook saw her future. A small wagon, just big enough to get them where they needed to go, held the crates and supplies she needed to start the next chapter of her life. Varric already had his life established there, of course, but the way his eyes brightened when she approached the cart told her that he was starting something new, too.

“You sure I can’t get you a puppy before we go?” Rook greeted him.

Her mabari hound, Kal, bounded around the wagon and barked in agreement, staring up at Varric with expectant eyes.

Varric shook his head. “Look, Viona has one of these guys, too. Two of them in my life is more than enough for me. I don’t know if my Diamondback game can survive as it is.”

Kal whined pitifully.

“Oh, come on,” Varric continued to argue. “Besides, you’re nearly as big as I am, what kind of master does that make me?”

Rook scratched behind the dog’s ears. “You’ll have to forgive him, Kal. He’s not from around here.”

Kal huffed in distaste and hopped up into the wagon, taking a break already.

“That is the laziest mabari I have ever seen,” Varric observed just before Rook took hold of both of his hands. The comment stilled on his lips, and he smiled at her. “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself,” she laughed quietly. He came to her, and she linked her arms around his waist.

His grip found her hips while his eyes searched her face. “You all right?”

Rook winced. “This is just harder than I thought it’d be.”

“I get it. And I know I’ve said it already, but, I mean it. I don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to.”

“Hey,” she argued. “I’m _not_ doing this for you. I know it looks like I am to everyone else, but I told you: I wanted this. I planned it before… well, you know. Before everything happened. There’s cool stuff to find out in the Free Marches, and I want to be the one to find it. Besides, maybe I just really wanted to see Anders and Isabela again.” Rook stuck her tongue out.

Varric chuckled and pulled her closer. “You’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

She found strength when she pressed her cheek to his shoulder and held on tight to him. Being in his arms always felt like a quiet moment out of time. “I don’t try to be. I just listen to my gut, you know?”

“I know.” His warm palm braced the back of her neck. “So what does your gut tell you now?”

Rook took a deep, slow breath in the stillness of his embrace. It was time. “We should probably get going.”

“Okay then,” Varric agreed. “Ready?”

“I think so. Oh, first!”

“Hm?” He stopped preparing to let go.

“Kiss.”

“Oh, of course,” he chuckled. “I think I like listening to your gut, too.”

“I’d sure hope so by now,” she teased before winding her hands up into his hair and pulling him in for purchase.

The skin of her face had accustomed itself to the sting of his stubble, now looking forward to the scratch of him against her. It was not the time or place for a kiss of deep passion, but Rook needed to feel him there. For his part, he happily delivered, always willing to follow her lead and add a few steps of his own. There could be no doubt that he was with her, and when they parted, her confidence finally felt settled into place.

Rook smiled at Varric and took a deep breath. “I’m ready.”


End file.
